>  »  . 


THE    FINE    ARTS 

A  MANUAL 


By  G.  BALDWIN  BROWN,  M.A. 

PROFESSOR  OF  FINK  ART  IN  THE  UNIVEKSITV  OF   EDINBURGH 


THIRD    EDITION 
WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

153-157  FIFTH  AVENUE 

I9IO 

All  rights  rtserved 


IM  -T 


First  Edition,  December,  i8gi 
Second  Edition,  April,  190a 
Third  Edition,  January,  igto 


•     •  •    •    •• 

•• •  •      •     • 

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NOTE  TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 

The  additional  matter  contained  in  the  present  edition 
of  this  manual  has  been  as  far  as  possible  adjusted  to 
the  original  scheme  of  the  sections,  and  these  remain 
the  same  in  total  number  as  in  the  former  issue.  The 
illustrations  have  been  augmented  and  their  quality 
improved.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  from  familiar 
works  of  art,  but  the  scope  of  the  book  only  admits 
of  a  statement  of  the  broader  and  more  obvious  truths 
about  the  arts  of  form,  which  are  best  illustrated  by 
acknowledged  masterpieces. 

Marchy  1902. 


NOTE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 

There  is  very  little  change  in  the  text  in  the  present 
issue,  but  the  references  have  been  brought  up  to  date. 

January  y  1910. 


2ji3/o4 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fineartsmanualOObrowrich 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

Art  as  the  Expression  of  Popular  Feelings 
AND  Ideals 

INTRODUCTION 

SOME   RECENT  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  ^ESTHETIC  LITERATURE 

I.  Contributions  to  Practical  ^Esthetics — 2.  The  Bearing  on 
^■Esthetic  Study  of  the  Doctrine  of  Development — 3.  Con- 
tributions to  Artistic  Theory  from  the  side  of  Anthropology — 

4.  The  Doctrine  of  the  Freedom  of  Art  in  a  New  Light — 

5.  The  Relations  in  Primitive  Times  of  Play,  Art,  and 
Work — 6.  The  exalted  importance  of  Art  as  an  element  in 
Human  Life — 7.  Recent  speculation  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
Artistic  Impulse  in  Man      ...»  Pages  1-22 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

8.  Intention  and  Plan  of  the  Work — 9.  The  Earliest  Activities 
which  lead  on  to  Art — 10.  Relation  of  the  foregoing  to  current 
Theories  of  the  Artistic  Impulse — 11.  Art  as  Self-Externaliza- 
tion — 12.  Bearing  of  this  on  the  Doctrine  of  the  Freedom 
of  Art — 13.  Form  in  Art :  Importance  in  all  its  manifestations 
of  the  principle  of  Order — 14.  Social  Institutions  and  the 
stimulus  they  afford  to  Art :  the  Festival — 15.  The  festal  origin 
of  graphic  and  plastic  Decoration — 16.  and  of  monumental 
Sculpture — 17.  And  especially  of  Architecture — 18.  The  ideal 


viii  CONTENTS 

character  of  the  earliest  permanent  monuments — 19.  Survival 
of  the  spirit  of  the  earliest  monuments  in  later  Architecture  and 
Sculpture — 20.  The  festal  character  of  early  Architecture  shown 
in  the  Egyptian  Temple— 21.  and  in  the  Temple  of  the  Greeks 
— 22.  Tabular  view  of  the  beginnings  of  the  Arts    Pages  23-64 

CHAPTER  II 

THE   FESTIVAL,    IN   ITS   RELATION  TO  THE   FORM   AND  SPIRIT  OF 
CLASSICAL  ART 

§§  23.  The  Festival  as  the  nurse  of  Art — 24.  The  festal  Dance 
among  savages — 25.  and  among  modern  and  ancient  Greeks — 
26.  Characteristics  of  the  ancient  Dance  as  a  form  of  Art — 27. 
Influence  of  the  Dance  on  Sculpture — 28.  The  mimic  Dances — 

29.  Effect  of  the  mimic  Dances  upon  Sculpture  and  Painting — 

30.  Evolution  of  the  Drama  from  the  mimic  Dance — 31.  Slight 
influence  of  the  Drama  on  Sculpture — 32.  Early  Sculpture  in 
its  relation  to  the  Festival — 33.  Mature  Sculpture  also  in  Greece 
the  expression  of  popular  ideals — 34.  Fundamental  charac- 
teristics of  Hellenic  Art — 35.  The  underlying  idea  of  Greek 
Sculpture— Hellas    in    opposition    to    the    non-Hellenic — 36. 

*  Hellas '  in  the  celestial,  the  legendary,  the  historical  spheres 
— 37.  Ideal  representation  in  Art  of  the  contests  of  Hellas 
against  the  non- Hellenic — 38.  Concentration  of  the  interest  of 
these  contests  in  typical  Protagonists — 39.  The  Types  peopling 
the  Hellenic  world — 40.  The  Olympian  Pantheon— 41.  The 
characterization  in  Sculpture  of  the  Types — 42.  Maintenance  of 
the  essential  character  of  the  Types  through  variations— 43. 
Flexibility  of  the  Types  in  the  hands  of  the  Sculptors — 
44.  Winckelmann  on  the  Classical  Ideal — 45.  True  meaning  of 

*  Ideal '  in  connection  with  Greek  Art — 46.  Supremacy  of  the 
Greek  sculptors — 47.  Sculpture  the  expression  of  the  Greek 
moral  idea ,  Pages  65-99 

CHAPTER  III 

MEDIEVAL   FLORENCE  AND   HER   PAINTERS 

§§  48.  Survival  of  the  Festival  in  early  Christian  times— 49.  and  of 
its  influence  in  stimulating  Art — 50.  How  Christian  Painting 
began— 51.  The  Florentines  as  representing  medieval  Culture 


CONTENTS  ix 

and  Art — 52.  The  Florentine  Pageant  and  Mystery-play — 53. 
Eflfect  of  these  on  Art — 54.  Rehearsal  of  artistic  subjects  in  the 
Pageants — 55.  The  artist  studies  from  the  Pageants — 56. 
Characteristic  illustrations  of  the  Florentine  pageants— 57. 
Dramatization  of  the  scenes  of  the  Passion  of  Christ — 58.  The 
religious  and  secular  'Triumphs' — 59.  Festal  aspect  of  the 
artist's  general  surroundings  at  Florence — 60.  A  fourteenth- 
century  description  of  the  Florentine  Festival  of  San  Giovanni 
— 61.  The  artistic  outcome  of  the  brilliant  festal  life  of  medieval 
Italy — 62.  The  difference  between  the  artistic  expression  of  the 
Greeks  and  Italians — 63.  The  large  Scenic  Picture  ;  how  it  was 
conceived  and  wrought — 64.  The  Frescoists  of  the  fifteenth 
century ;  their  character,  surroundings  and  work — 65.  Interior  of 
a  Florentine  workshop— 66.  How  the  Votive  Chapel  was  painted 
— 67.  A  Cycle  of  Fresco-paintings — 68.  Consultation  over 
Cartoons — 69.  A  visit  from  the  6lite  of  the  city — 70.  The 
technical  processes  of  Fresco — 71.  The  Master  at  work — 72.  A 
critical  glance  at  his  achievement — 73.  Summary  of  the  fore- 
going chapters       .         .        •         .         .         .      Pages  100-148 


PART  II 
The  Formal  Conditions  of  Artistic  Expression 

CHAPTER  I 

SOME  ELEMENTS  OF   EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

!§  74.  A  new  branch  of  the  subject ;  the  operation  in  different  forms 
,  of  Art  of  the  principle  of  *  Order ' — 75.  Every  work  of  Art  must 
present  itself  as  a  Unity — 76.  Visual  Impressions  derived  from 
the  Arts  of  Form — 77.  The  Elements  of  Effect  in  Architecture ; 
Masses — 78.  Lines  in  Architecture — 79.  Light-and-Shade  and 
Texture  in  Architecture — 80.  Colour  not  an  essential  element 
in  Architectural  Effect — 81.  The  Elements  of  Effect  in  Sculpture : 
distinction  between  Sculpture  in  the  Round  and  Relief — 82.  The 
Forms  presented  in  Sculpture— 83.  Contour,  Light-and-Shade, 
Texture  and  Colour  in  Sculpture — 84.  The  Colouring  of  antique 
Sculpture — 85.  The  Colouring  of  Medieval  Sculpture — 86.  The 


CONTENTS 

Elements  of  effect  in  the  Graphic  Art— 87.  Relation  of  Painting 
to  the  other  Arts  of  Form— 88.  The  Essence  of  the  Painter's 
Art— 89.  How  the  Painter  is  prepared  for  his  Work — 90. 
Imperfect  forms  of  the  Graphic  Art ;  Line-drawing — 91.  Repre- 
sentation of  Solid  Form  in  the  Graphic  Art — 92.  Graphic 
delineation  as  aided  by  Perspective — 93.  Aerial  Perspective  and 
its  Study — 94.  Colour  in  the  Graphic  Art — 95.  Texture  in  the 
Graphic  Art — 96.  Light-and- Shade  in  the  Graphic  Art 

Pages  151-204 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  SIGNIFICANT 

97.  Beauty  and  Significance  in  Works  of  Art — 98.  Art  is  Signifi- 
cant as  appealing  to  Natural  Symbolism ;  (A)  in  Light  and 
Colour — 99.  (B)  and  in  Form — 100.  Rejection  of  the  Counter- 
Theory  that  Formal  Beauty  is  the  only  true  artistic  quality — 
loi..  The  Architectural  Monument  as  a  significant  Work  of 
Art — 102.  The  first  essentials  of  Architectural  Effect ;  Mass — 
103.  and  Stability — 104.  Architectural  Sublimity  involves  the 
idea  of  Power,  and  of  the  Supremacy  of  Intelligence  over  matter 
— 105.  The  Significance  of  Architectural  Styles — 106.  The 
i?isthetics  of  Construction  in  general  not  entered  upon — 107. 
Other  effects  produced  by  the  Work  of  Art  as  significant ;  the 
Suggestion  of  Nature  in  Architectural  Forms — 108.  The  Re- 
lation to  Nature  of  the  Works  of  Sculpture  and  Painting— 
(I09-  Statues  and  Pictures  have  been  generally  regarded  from 
the  point  of  view  of  their  Truth  to  Nature — no.  or  of  the  Ethical 
Character  of  their  Subjects — III.  Criticism  of  these  Views — 
112.  The  opposite  theory  of  a  Picture  as  'Decorative'  stated 
and  discussed — 1 1 3.  The  Artistic  Treatment  of  Nature  in  the  Art 
of  Painting— 114.  The  Language  of  Art         .      Pages  205-238 

CHAPTER  III 

THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

115.  The  elements  of  Beauty;  the  Whole  and  the  Parts — 116. 
Importance  of  attending  first  to  the  Whole — 117.  in  criticiz- 
ing Architecture-.,  u  8.  Sculpture — 119.  and  Painting — 120. 
'  Breadth '  and  its  artistic  significance — 121.  The  value  of  *  Play 
of  Surface'  as  against  Decision  of  Form  in  the  Arts — 122.  The 
Conditions  of  Formal   Beauty  in   the   Arts-^l2^  Beauty  in 


CONTENTS  xi 

simple  Figures — 124.  Such  Beauty  is  not  an  absolute  quality — 
125.  Formal  Beauty  of  Composition,  in  Architecture — 126.  and 
Sculpture — 127.  and  Painting — 128.  How  far  is  Pictorial 
Composition  amenable  to  Formal  Laws  ?       •      Pages  239-266 


PART  III 
The  Arts  of  Form 

CHAPTER  I 

ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY  IN  RELATION  TO  CONSTRUCTION 

129.  The  Elements  of  Architectural  Effect:  Summary  of  Earlier 
Sections — 130.  The  Relation  of  Utility  and  Art  in  Architecture 
— 131.  The  theory  of  'respect  absolu  pour  le  vrai'  tested  by 
the  Doric  Fa9ade — 132.  The  Architect  need  not  be  ashamed  of 
Beauty,  even  when  Independent  of  Constmction — 133.  The 
Principles  of  Architectural  Design — 134.  Characteristics  of 
building  materials  :  Stone,  and  its  Natural  Symbolism — 135. 
Brick,  and  the  Constructive  Forms  evolved  from  its  use — 
136.  The  Arch,  as  derived  from  Construction  in  small  materials  : 
its  aesthetic  value — 137.  Evolution  of  an  Arched  Style  :  the  Arch 
at  Rome — 138.  The  Arch  in  the  hands  of  Medieval  Builders: 
The  Gothic  Style — 139.  Construction  and  Beauty  in  the  Gothic 
Edifice — 140.  Free  expression  and  Beauty  in  Gothic,  indepen- 
dent of  Construction — 141.  Summary  of  the  foregoing — 142. 
Monolithic  Stone  Construction  in  relation  to  architectural 
Beauty — 143.  Transference  of  Timber  forms  to  Stone,  the 
secret  of  ancient  Architecture — 144.  An  illustration  from  Ancient 
Egypt — 145.  The  Columned  Style  originates  in  Wood-Con- 
struction— 146.  Characteristics  of  Construction  in  Wood — 
147.  These  characteristics  appear  in  the  forms  of  the  Greek 
Temple— 148.  Significance  of  the  foregoing  facts— 149.  Use  of 
the  forms  thus  established,  as  Conventions,  in  later  Architec- 
ture, as  in  Roman  and  Neo-classic  work — 150.  and  even  in  the 
Gothic  Style — 151.  The  Gothic  Moulding  as,  in  part,  a  con- 
ventional form — 152.  Comparison  of  the  Early  Christian 
Basilica  with  the  later  Medieval  Church         .      Pages  269-323 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  CONVENTIONS  OF  SCULPTURE 

§§  153.  Sculpture  in  the  Round  begins  with  Realism  :  examples 
from  Egypt— 154.  The  Greeks  established  Conventions  of  the 
Art — 155.  The  value  of  Greek  Standards  for  modern  practice — 
156.  The  primary  Convention  of  monumental  Sculpture — 157. 
Treatment  in  monumental  work  as  influenced  by  Material  and 
Scale — 158.  Conventions  of  Treatment  in  works  designed  for  a 
nearer  view  :  the  handling  of  Bronze  and  Marble — 159.  The 
Rendering  of  Natural  Forms— 160.  and  their  artistic  handling, 
as  illustrated  in  the  Parthenon  Fragments — 161.  The  general 
artistic  result  of  these  Conventionsof  Treatment— 162.  Sculptur- 
esque Treatment  as  modified  in  later  times — 163.  Sculpture  in 
Relief,  its  different  kinds — 164.  The  Conventions  of  Sculpture 
in  Relief,  as  established  by  the  Greeks — 165.  Relief  Treatment 
as  influenced  by  Materials  and  Processes :  Greek  and  Italian 
Technique — 166.  The  innovations  of  Ghiberti  examined  :  their 
influence  on  modern  Sculpture       .         .        .      Pages  324-371 

CHAPTER  III 

PAINTING  OLD  AND   NEW 

§§  167.  The  Limitations  of  Fresco  Practice — 168.  The  first  stages 
of  the  advance  :  Linear  Perspective — 169.  and  Foreshortening 
170.  Aerial  Perspective  and  Light-and-Shade,  necessary  for 
further  advance,  were  not  fully  mastered  by  the  Italians — 171. 
Light-and-Shade  as  used  by  the  Italian  Painters — 172.  and  as 
developed  by  Rembrandt  and  the  Northerns — 173.  Influence 
of  the  new  treatment  in  extending  the  field  of  Painting — 174. 
especially  in  regard  to  Landscape — 175.  Summary  of  the  fore- 
going— 176.  The  introduction  of  Oil-Painting  and  the  Tempera 
Style — ^177.  Importance  of  the  change  for  the  character  of 
Modern  Painting — 178.  Attitude  of  the  Florentines  towards  the 
new  Medium — 179.  The  Technique  of  Oil -Painting — 180.  The 
practice  of  Correggio  and  the  Venetians — 181.  and  of  Rubens 
and  the  Flemish  School — 182.  The  place  of  Technique  in 
Modern  Painting «        *        372-409 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


*  Theseus/  from  the  eastern  pediment  of  the  Parthenon,      -  Frontispiece 

Specimens  of  the  Art  of  Pre-historic  Cave-dwellers  in  Western 

France, 28 

Plan  of  Egyptian  Temple  (Edfou), 56 

Early  Egyptian  Shrines,  from  hieroglyphic  inscriptions,      -        -  57 

Portal  and  Court  of  Temple  at  Edfou,  Egypt,    -         -        -         -  58 

Doric  Temple  at  Psestum,  Italy, 60 

Female  Dancer,  from  Greek  Vase, 70 

Dance  of  Armed  Youth,  from  a  Greek  Vase,      -        •        -        -  72 

Adoration  of  the  Magi,  by  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  in  the  Academy 

at  Florence, 106 

Discobolus  of  Myron,  British  Museum, 262 

Palazzo  Riccardi,  Florence, 286 

Battlements  crowning  an  Assyrian  wall  of  bricks,        -         -         -  287 

Roman  Aqueduct,  known  as  the  Pont  du  Gard,  near  Nimes  in 

Southern  France, 288 

Group  of  domed  houses  from  an  Assyrian  relief,          -        -        -  290 

Analysis  of  Gothic   Construction,    Rheims    Cathedral,     From 

Gailhabaud, 296 

So-called  Temple  of  the  Sphinx, 30.1 

Primitive  Hut,  from  Asia  Minor, 304 

Egyptian  Cornice, ••        •  305 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Section  of  part  of  Hypostyle  Hall,  Karnak,  showing  bud  and 

flower  Capitals,          - 307 

Fa9ade  of  rock-cut  Lycian  tomb, 308 

Diagram  of  Timber-construction, 310 

The  Lion-Tomb,  Cnidus, -        -        -  3^7 

Roman  combination  of  arched  and  trabeate  forms,     •        -        -  318 

Palazzo  Rucellai,  Florence,        -        - 318 

Seated  Scribe,  an  Egyptian  Statue  of  the  Old  Empire,  in  the 

Louvre,     .        .        ^ 326 

Equestrian  Statue  of  Bartolommeo  CoUeoni  at  Venice,       -        -  338 

Head  of  Horse  of  Selene,  from  the  Parthenon,  -        -        -        -  346 

Apoxyomenos  (Athlete  using  the  Strigil)  in  the  Vatican,     -         -  352 

Metope  from  the  Parthenon,  showing  traces  of  archaism,    -        -  365 

Metope  from  the  Parthenon,  free  style, 365 

Philip  IV.,  by  Velasquez,  in  the  National  Gallery,     -        -        -  406 


PART    I 

ART  AS  THE  EXPRESSION  OF  POPULAR 
FEELINGS  AND  IDEALS 


INTRODUCTION 

SOME  RECENT  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  ^ESTHETIC 
LITERATURE 

§  1.     Contributions  to  Practical  Esthetics 

Since  the  first  publication  of  this  manual,  various 
departments  of  artistic  literature  have  received 
substantial  additions.  In  what  may  be  called 
practical  aesthetics,  the  particular  branch  of  study 
to  which  the  attention  of  readers  of  this  book  will 
be  directed,  the  literary  output  is  never  great. 
Contributions  in  this  department  are  especially 
valuable  when  they  come  from  artists  themselves, 
and  here,  while  the  total  activity  is  small,  the 
votaries  of  architecture  are  generally  more  pro- 
ductive than  those  of  the  sister  arts.  Architects 
constantly  discuss  the  present  problems  of  their 
art,  and  from  time  to  time  they  offer  to  the 
public  attempts  at  a  more  systeniatic  treatment. 
As  recent  examples  of  this  may  be  quoted 
Mr.  Belcher's  Essentials  tn  Architecture}  How  to 
Judge  Architecture^  by  Mr.  Russell  Sturgis,  and 
The  Misttess  Artf'  by  Professor  Reginald  Blom- 
field.     The  first  portion  of  Mr.  H.  H.  Statham's 

^London,  1907.  ^ New  York,  1902,  London,  1904, 

^London,  1909. 


2  ^ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

Architecture  for  General  Readers'^  embraces  a 
discussion  of  this  art  from  the  theoretical  side. 

Painters  and  sculptors  on  the  other  hand  are 
less  communicative,  though  interesting  volumes  of 
lectures  and  addresses,  such  as  those  delivered 
by  Mr.  George  Clausen  at  the  Royal  Academy,^ 
occasionally  make  their  appearance.  Biographical 
studies  of  living  artists,  a  form  of  literature  not 
altogether  to  be  encouraged,  may  contain  reported 
remarks  or  letters  that  cast  a  welcome  side-light 
on  the  way  in  which  artistic  problems  are  being 
regarded  by  those  who  are  actually  making  artistic 
history  in  our  midst.  The  letters  or  journals  of 
artists,  indeed,  such  as  those  of  John  Constable  or 
of  Delacroix,  contain  some  of  the  best  material 
available  for  constructing  a  practical  theory  of 
artistic  operations.  In  the  matter  of  the 
systematic  analysis  of  the  aesthetic  of  painting, 
nothing  has  been  recently  published  of  equal 
value  with  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson's  Art  of  Velasquez^ 
which  was  an  earnest  attempt  to  make  the  public 
understand  what  a  picture  really  means. 

The  vast  bulk  of  the  extensive  modern  litera- 
ture of  the  arts  of  form  is  made  up  of  general 
histories,  such  as  the  monumental  Histotre  de 
VArt  dans  VAntiqmte,  of  Perrot  and  Chipiez,* 
and  the  post-Christian  Histotre  de  VArt^  now 
being  published  under  the  editorship  of  M.  Andr6 
Michel ;  of  more  special  histories  like  the  Storia 
delV  Arte  Italiana^  of  Professor  Venturi ;  and 
more  especially  of  sumptuous  and  costly  volumes 

1  Second  Edition,  London,  1896.  ^  London,  1904.  *  London,  1895. 
*  Paris,  1882,  etc.  «*  Paris,  1905,  etc.  «MiIano,  1901,  etc 


RECENT  ARTISTIC   LITERATURE  3 

on  individual  masters.  Biographical  works  on 
artists  on  a  smaller  scale  have  been  issued  from 
the  press  in  recent  years  in  extraordinary  numbers. 

Apart  from  formal  works,  there  is  to  be  con- 
sidered the  voluminous  artistic  literature  of  the 
periodical  press.  Though  in  press  notices  and 
critiques  the  personal  element  may  be  unduly 
prominent,  and  though  we  are  wearied  with  the 
lo  here !  and  lo  there !  which  announce  the 
fleeting  artistic  triumphs  of  an  hour,  yet  there 
is  a  good  deal  in  this  literature  that  has  more 
than  ephemeral  value.  There  runs  through  it  a 
healthy  recognition  of  the  great  and  permanent 
qualities  on  which  depends  the  higher  sort  of 
artistic  excellence.  For  the  architectural  monu- 
ment that  relies  for  its  effect  on  greatness  and 
simplicity ;  the  marble  or  the  bronze  studied 
and  subtily  wrought  in  every  line  and  on 
every  inch  of  surface  ;  the  concentrated  reposeful 
picture  that  does  not  start  out  of  its  frame  in 
clamorous  brilliancy,  there  is  ready  a  fair  measure 
of  appreciation. 

The  fact  just  noted,  that,  after  all,  the  great 
landmarks  of  art  remain  conspicuous  and  honoured 
as  of  old,  has  made  it  needless  to  alter  much  in 
the  discussions  of  practical  aesthetic  questions 
contained  in  the  earlier  editions  of  this  manual. 
The  object  of  it  as  stated  in  the  preface  was  '  to 
stimulate  the  reader's  interest  in  the  more  purely 
artistic  qualities  of  works  of  art,*  and  in  spite  of 
all  the  phases  of  modernitd '  through  which  the  art 
of  Europe  and  America  is  passing,  these  qualities 
abide    in    the   main    as   they   were   fixed    in    the 


4  ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

world's  acknowledged  masterpieces.  The  limits 
of  this  book  make  it  impossible  to  follow  the 
attractive  bye-paths  of  modern  art  which  are 
being  opened  up  every  day.  All  that  can  be 
aimed  at  is  such  a  re-statement  of  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  the  arts  of  form  established 
in  the  classical  ages,  as  may  at  the  same  time 
elucidate  all  that  is  most  solidly  artistic  in  the 
special  methods  of  the  moment. 

§  2.  The  Bearing  on  -Esthetic  Study  of  the  Doctrine  of 
Development. 

Passing  from  the  subject  of  practical  art  and  its 
treatment  in  current  literature  to  that  of  theoretical 
study,  we  note  that  in  the  branch  of  the  latter 
concerned  with  the  origin  and  early  forms  of  art 
fresh  observations  have  greatly  modified  the  con- 
clusions that  passed  current  two  decades  ago.  We 
are  here  on  the  territory  of  science,  where  every- 
thing is  newly  explored  and  measured,  and  there 
are  no  classical  models  or  fundamental  principles 
against  which  time  lifts  his  scythe  in  vain.  Tfie 
modern  spirit  has  proved  so  irresistible  a  solvent  , 
of  a  priori  theories  of  the  pre-scientific  age,  that  it 
may  easily  be  credited  with  the  power  of  settling 
every  question  posed.  Many  may  imagine  that  it 
is  only  needful  to  apply  the  ready-made  categories 
of  evolutionist  thought  in' order  to  solve  at  once 
the  long-standing  problems  of  the  genesis  and 
essential  character  of  art.  Starting,  for  example, 
from  the  earliest  actual  manifestations  of  art 
accessible  to  observation,  they  may  expect  to  see 
the  organism  of  art  unfolding  itself  in  forms  more 


IS   THERE   EVOLUTION    IN   ART?  5 

and  more  elaborate  in  correspondence  with  the 
progressive  complexity  of  civilization.  As  a  fact 
the  phenomena  of  art  by  no  means  answer  to  this 
expectation.  While  the  essential  nature  of  the 
artistic  activity  seems  to  have  been  the  same  at 
all  epochs/  some  forms  of  art  have  grown  more- 
elaborate  as  civilization  advanced  and  others  have 
shown  a  corresponding  impoverishment.  The 
music  and  painting  of  modern  date  may  involve 
the  result  of  development,  but  can  we  say  the 
same  of  monumental  sculpture  and  architecture? 
Does  not  the  dance  of  our  own  time  represent  a 
mere  survival  of  what  was  once  a  complex  and 
varied  form  of  art?  In  view  of  these  facts  it  is 
better  for  the  present  to  keep  the  words  '  develop- 
ment '  and  '  evolution '  out  of  artistic  literature. 
The  spell  that  they  have  cast  over  our  minds 
accounts  for  a  very  curious  recent  use  of  the 
latter  word  in  connection  with  certain  special 
manifestations  of  art.  The  discovery  has  been 
made  by  travellers  that  many  ornamental  patterns 
on  the  implements  or  fabrics  of  the  modern 
savage,  which  used  to  be  regarded  as  freely 
invented  designs  of  a  geometrical  order,  are 
really  the  highly  conventionalized  far-off  copies 
of   natural    objects.^      This    discovery    has    been 

*  A  recent  writer  on  this  subject,  Dr.  Yrjo  Him  of  Helsingfors, 
whose  work  will  be  noticed  later  on,  believes  that  the  *  innermost 
nature '  of  the  artistic  impulse  will  always  remain  the  same.  The 
Origins  of  Art :  a  Psychological  and  Sociological  Inquiry^  London, 
1900,  p.  100.  ♦ 

"^  Dr.  von  den  Steinen,  the  explorer  of  Central  Brazil,  noticed  in  a 
chiefs  house  a  piece  of  bark  with  patterns  painted  on  it.  His  first 
impression  was  that  the  various  zig-zags,  dots,  rings,  rows  of  dia* 


6  i^STHETIC   LITERATURE 

brought  before  English  readers  in  the  works 
noted  below,^  the  titles  of  which  might  give  an 
erroneous  idea  of  their  contents.  The  modern  ear 
attuned  to  scientific  utterances  is  tickled  when  the 
phrase  *  Evolution  in  Art '  occurs  in  the  title  of  a 
book,  but  when  we  find  that  this  *  evolution  *  con- 
sists mainly  in  the  gradual  degeneration  of  por- 
trayals of  natural  objects  into  mere  patterns  of 
lines  and  blobs,  our  faith  in  the  value  for  art  of 
these  magic  formulae  is  somewhat  shaken. 

§  3.  Contributions  to  Aj^tistic  Theory  from  the  side  of 
Anthropology. 

If  the  current  conceptions  of  development  have 
little  apparent  application  to  art,  the  scientific  or 
inductive  method  is  on  the  other  hand  of  the 
utmost  value  for  the  study  of  its  phenomena. 

The  Anthropologist  has  far  more  to  offer  us 
than  a  correction  of  our  impressions  of  savage 
ornament.  Observations  of  the  customs  and  pos- 
sessions of  uncivilized  man,  undertaken  primarily 

monds  and  triangles,  were  only  ornaments  neatly  wrought  but 
without  any  ulterior  significance.  He  asked  what  the  patterns  were 
called  and  was  told  to  his  surprise  the  names  of  fishes,  birds,  and 
even  of  articles  of  dress,  and  found  on  investigation  that  all  the 
forms  were  originally  pictures  of  objects  of  the  kind.  Other  investi- 
gators have  fully  confirmed  the  truth  of  the  conclusion  which  these 
facts  indicate.  It  may  be  noted  however  that  they  must  not  be  taken 
as  precluding  the  possibility  of  the  existence  of  invented  linear 
patterns  as  a  whole.  These  were  known  as  we  shall  see  in  the 
Palaeolithic  age.  Unter  den  Naturvolkern  Zentral  Brasiliens^ 
Berlin,  1894,  p.  258. 

^  Henry  Balfour,  The  Evolution  of  Decorative  Art,  London,  1893. 
Prof.  A.  C.  Haddon,  Evolution  in  Art  as  illustrated  by  the  Life- 
Histories  of  Designs,  London,  1895. 


ANTHROPOLOGY  AND   ART  > 

from  the  sociological  standpoint,  have  brought  to 
light  a  vast  collection  of  facts  about  primitive  art, 
which  not  only  are  of  interest  in  themselves  as 
showing  how  varied  and  copious  are  its  manifes- 
tations, but  cast  a  welcome  light  upon  many 
fundamental  questions  of  artistic  theory.  It  is 
no  longer  possible  to  discuss  aesthetics  from  a 
station  on  the  visionary  heights  of  the  Beautiful. 
*  Das  Schoene  Ueberhaupt '  which  used  to  be  the 
starting  point  of  a  deductive  process  ending  in 
the  concrete  work  of  art  on  the  artist's  easel  or 
modelling-stand,  is  now  abandoned,  and  the 
process  begins  quite  at  the  other  end  with  some 
very  crude  and  probably  unbeautiful  manifesta- 
tions of  the  artistic  impulse  among  aborigines  of 
central  Australia. 

The  chief  results  of  this  inductive  study  have 
been  summed  up  in  the  work  on  the  Beginnings  of 
Art  by  Professor  Grosse  of  Freiburg  in  Baden. ^ 
In  his  collection  of  data  Dr.  Grosse  limits  himself 
to  tribes  in  the  most  primitive  known  condition, 
those,  that  is,  which  subsist  on  the  proceeds  of 
hunting  and  have  not  entered  on  the  agricultural 
stage,  but  from  this  comparatively  limited  field  he 
has  collected  a  varied  and  most  instructive  body 
of  facts,  which  modify  considerably  views  pre- 
viously current.  Taking  this  work  in  conjunction 
with  other  more  special  studies  in  Anthropology 
and  the  life  of  animals,  we  may  notice  here  one  or 
two  of  the  principal  points  in  which  recent  study 
has  led  to  a  reconsideration  of  orthodox  dogma. 

'^  Die  Anfdnge    der  Kunst,  Freiburg  i.    B.   und   Leipzig,    1894 
[American  Translation,  The  Beginnings  of  Art,  New  York,  1897]. 


8  ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

§  4.  The  Doctrine  of  the  Freedom  of  Art  in  a  New 
Light. 

Amidst  the  cross-currents  of  opinion  that  have 
complicated  aesthetic  discussion  there  is  one 
doctrine  in  which  writers  of  all  the  different 
schools  have  agreed,  and  this  is  the  doctrine  of 
the  freedom  or  independence  of  art.  *  Meta- 
physicians as  well  as  Psychologists,  Hegelians  as 
well  as  Darwinians,  all  agree  in  declaring  that  a 
work,  or  performance,  which  can  be  proved  to 
serve  any  utilitarian,  non-sesthetic  object  must 
not  be  considered  as  a  genuine  work  of  art. 
True  art  has  its  own  law  in  itself,  and  rejects 
every  extraneous  purpose ;  that  is  the  doctrine 
which,  with  more  or  less  explicitness,  has  been 
stated  by  Kant,  Schiller,  Spencer,  Hennequin, 
Grosse,  Grant  Allen,  and  others.  And  popular 
opinion  agrees  in  this  respect  with  the  conclusions 
of  science.'^  Grosse,  who  states  that  'the  aesthetic 
faculty  is  not  engaged  in  for  an  end  lying  outside 
itself  but  is  its  own  end,'  and  *  is  opposed  as  the 
exact  opposite  to  practical  activity  which  always 
serves  some  end  outside  itself,'^  asks  nevertheless 
the  pertinent  question  how  it  happens  that  the 
races  lowest  in  the  scale  of  civilization,  among 
whom  the  struggle  for  existence  is  hardest,  are 
able  and  willing  to  consecrate  so  much  energy  to 
this  useless  pursuit.  *  Even  the  most  primitive 
and  poverty-stricken  tribes,'  he  points  out,  '  devote 
a  great  part  of  their  time  and  strength  to  art — to 
that  art  which  civilized  nations  are  coming  more 

^Hirn,  The  Origins  of  Art ^  p.  7. 
^Die  Anfdnge  der  Kunst,  p.  46, 


ART   USEFUL  TO   PRIMITIVE   MAN  9 

and  more  to  regard  from  the  height  of  their 
practical  and  scientific  attainments  as  an  idle 
pastime/  ^  If  this  last  were  the  character  of  art 
among  savages,  it  is  inconceivable  that  the  tribes 
who  thus  waste  their  time  and  strength  should 
not  disappear  before  more  practical  rivals.  Dr. 
Grosse  solves  the  problem  by  an  interesting 
demonstration  showing  that  in  all  the  arts  prac- 
tised by  man  in  the  primitive  stage  of  culture 
there  is  a  secondary  practical  value  over  and  above 
the  direct  aesthetic  stimulus  and  satisfaction. 

The  loving  manipulation  of  the  weapon  or 
implement  in  the  processes  of  balancing,  smoothing 
and  polishing  adds  to  its  efficiency,  while  the 
more  direct  artistic  effort  in  the  form  of  ornament 
stamps  it  as  its  owner's  property,  or  by  a  totem - 
mark  secures  some  magic  efficacy  and  at  any  rate 
links  the  holder,  for  common  work,  with  his 
tribesmen  of  the  same  insignia.  The  adornment 
of  the  person  is  dynamic  in  the  various  relations 
of  life.  As  enhancing  the  personality  it  is  of 
practical  moment,  not  only  as  giving  prominence 
in  joint  operations,  but  as  favouring  success  in 
courtship  and  war.  The  dance,  which  is  service- 
able to  fhe  individual  both  as  bodily  training  and 
as  drill,  is  of  the  highest  social  value.  Involving 
the  common  activity  of  a  large  body  of  per- 
formers, it  implies  continued  practice  and  discipline 
which  are  potent  in  forming  a  compact  com- 
munity out  of  scattered  and  isolated  units. 

It  would  appear,  therefore,  that  art  among 
savages,  far  from  being  a  mere  pastime  or 
'^Ibid.  p.  298. 


lO  iCSTHETIC   LITERATURE 

ministering  to  supposed  aesthetic  sensibilities,  is 
really  a  practical  necessity,  if  not  of  life,  at  any 
rate  of  racial  development  and  progress,  and  the 
question  is  at  once  forced  upon  us  What  is  the 
bearing  of  these  facts  on  the  doctrine  of  the 
freedom  and  independence  of  art. 

This  doctrine  was  formed  upon  the  data 
furnished  by  the  arts  in  the  civilized  modern 
world,  at  a  time  when  the  facts  of  savage  art 
were  not  yet  subjects  of  scientific  study.  The 
data  in  question,  however,  were  not  in  this  respect 
essentially  different  from  those  now  furnished  by 
the  ethnologist.  Civilized  art  in  modern  times 
has  its  own  relation  to  the  practical  side  of  life 
and  its  own  forms  of  constraint.  It  is^pursued 
habitually  as  a  profession  by  those  who  make 
their  living  from  it.  In  certain  forms  of  it,  such 
as  the  decorative  sculpture  and  painting  on  a 
public  building,  its  theme,  extent  and  artistic 
character  are  prescribed.  The  architect  works 
under  a  still  severer  consJ;raint,  and  is  compelled 
to  curb  his  artistic  flights  within  limits  set  for 
him  by  external   powers. 

Now,  as  an  actual  fact,  the  doctrine  of  the 
freedom  of  art  was  established  by  thinkers 
of  the  last  two  centuries  who  were  all  perfectly 
well  aware  of  these  truths,  but  did  not  regard 
them  as  vitiating  their  theory.  They  held  that 
these  outward  conditions  of  financial  pressure, 
this  ordering  of  the  task,  were  not  of  the  essence 
of  the  matter,  and  that  the  creative  energy  of 
the  artist  was  not  deprived  by  them  of  its 
spontaneity    and    freedom.       Modern    experience 


MEANING   OF   FREEDOM    IN   ART  ii 

ihows  that  the  art  which  from  accidental  causes 
is  freed  from  these  restraints  is  no  better,  no 
more  artistic,  than  that  which  feels  all  the  force 
they  can  exercise.  Certain  artists,  Titian  for 
one,  have  been  even  sordidly  anxious  about  their 
pay,  while  others,  for  example  Tintoretto,  were 
supremely  indifferent  to  anything  save  the  work 
itself,  but  was  Titian  less  the  artist  than  his 
younger  rival?  In  the  buildings  of  the  great 
French  exhibition  of  1 900  the  designers  of  many 
of  the  pavilions  and  entrances  were  able  to  create 
in  freedom,  and  as  a  result  they  perpetrated 
monstrosities ;  while  the  architect  of  the  Petit 
Palais,  who  had  the  limits  of  his  task  marked 
out  for  him,  produced  one  of  the  masterpieces 
of  modern  art.  The  psychology  of  artistic 
creation  is  a  complex  subject,  and  without  enter- 
ing upon  it  we  may  point  to  the  belief,  which 
artists  themselves  will  endorse,  that  fixed  limits, 
a  certain  pressure  of  constraint,  even  the  iron 
hand  of  necessity,  may  sometimes  really  stimulate 
the  powers  and  wing  the  flight  of  artistic  creation. 
Go  and  discourse  on  the  *  freedom  of  art '  to 
a  painter  who  lives  by  his  work,  and  who  is 
struggling  to  finish  for  sending-in  day  a  picture 
on  the  sale  of  which  he  has  counted  during  all 
the  months  of  winter !  He  may  retort  on  you 
that  art  is  a  bitter  slavery,  but  yet  all  the  time 
he  and  everyone  else  who  knows  what  art  is  are 
perfectly  aware  that  in  the  actual  work  the  sense 
of  constraint  disappears,  the  forms  and  colours 
and  manner  of  the  brush-strokes  come  to  the 
mind  as  fresh  as  if  they  were  fairy  gifts.     The  art 


la  iESTHETIC  LITERATURE 

of  the  piece,  so  far  as  it  is  truly  artistic,  is 
from  beginning  to  end  free  creation.  There  are 
of  course  cases  in  which  the  external  pressure 
and  resultant  mental  strain  are  too  great  and 
the  healthy  working  of  the  artistic  powers  is 
hindered  ;  cases  too  in  which  production  is  carried 
on  in  a  mechanical  and  lifeless  way,  as  is  the 
fashion  of  *  pot  boilers ' ;  but  the  worker  himself 
is  perfectly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  his  life 
as  artist  is  for  the  time  being  suspended.  It 
is  not  that  his  art  has  ceased  to  be  free,  it  has 
ceased  for  the  time  to  be  in  the  true  sense  art 
at  all.  In  examining  on  a  subsequent  page  the 
actual  artistic  activity  of  primitive  man  we  shall 
discern  the  same  element  of  freedom  that  is 
constant  in  the  art-work  of  the  modern.  Hence 
the  doctrine  of  the  freedom  of  art,  when  rightly 
comprehended,  stands  exactly  where  it  stood. 
No  essential  modification  need  be  made  in  it 
as  a  consequence  of  modern  researches. 

§  5.  The  Relations  in  Primitive  Times  of  Play,  Art, 
and  Work. 

An  important  branch  of  the  theory  of  the  origins 
of  art  is  concerned  with  the  nature  of  play  and 
the  relation  of  play  to  art.  Ten  years  ago  the 
current  theory  of  play  was  that  which,  started  by 
an  obiter  dictum  of  Kant  to  the  effect  that  '  Art 
compared  with  labour  may  be  considered  as 
play,'^  was  developed  by  the  poet  Schiller  in  his 
interesting  letters  on   the  Esthetic   Education   of 

^  Quoted  from  Professor  Knight,  The  Philosophy  of  the  Beautiftd^ 
London,  1891,  p.  (>2. 


SPENCERIAN  THEORY  OF  »PLAY'  13 

Man}  and  established  on  grounds  of  physiology  and 
psychology  by  Herbert  Spencer.^  The  publication 
in  1896-9  of  the  two  works  by  Professor  Groos,  of 
the  University  of  Basel,  on  the  Play  of  Animals^ 
and  the  Play  of  Men*"  has  completely  revolutionized 
opinion  on  the  subject.  Both  Schiller  and  Herbert 
Spencer  have  explained  play,  alike  in  animals  and 
men,  as  the  spontaneous  discharge  of  an  overplus 
of  nervous  energy  that,  having  at  the  moment  no 
practical  function  to  serve,  works  itself  off  in  simu- 
lated action.  Through  habitual  use  in  the  neces- 
sary actions  of  life,  the  animal  powers  become 
developed  so  as  to  be  always  ready  to  answer  to 
the  accustomed  strain.  This  same  habitual  use 
produces  also  a  sort  of  expectation  of  and  even 
impatience  for  the  strain,  and  if  the  demand  be 
not  made  there  is  an  accumulation  of  superfluous 
energy  which  is  ^  ready  to  respond  to  the  slightest 
stimulus.  When  there  is  no  real  stimulus  at 
hand — none  of  the  serious  business  on  which  the 
activities  of  the  particular  power  generally  depend 
— then  '  a  simulation  of  those  activities  is  easily 
fallen  into,  when  circumstances  offer  it  in  place  of 
the  real  activities.  .  .  .  Play  is  ...  an  artificial 
exercise  of  powers  which,  in  default  of  their  natural 
exercise,  become  so  ready  to  discharge  that  they 

'^SchiWtr's Sdfnviiliche Sckri/ten,edi.  Goedeke,  Stuttgart,  1867, etc., 
Theil  X.,  p.  274  ff.  (English  translation  by  Weiss,  London,  1845). 

2  Principles  of  Psychology,  Part  ix. ,  chapter  ix. ,  Esthetic  Sentiments. 

^  Die  Spiele  der  Thtere,  Jena,  1896  (American  translation,  The  Play 
oj  Animals y  London,  1898). 

'^  Die  Spiele  der  Menschen,  Jena,  1899  (American  translation,  The 
Play  of  Man,  New  York,  1901). 


14  .ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

relieve  themselves  by  simulated  actions  in  place  of 
real  actions. '  ^ 

The  tendency  of  this  account  of  play  is  to 
make  its  activities  posterior  to,  and,  as  it  were, 
mere  echoes  of,  activities  of  the  practical  kind. 
The  conclusions  to  which  Professor  Groos  has  come 
exhibit  play  as  a  far  more  serious  and  necessary 
element  in  life  than  it  has  hitherto  been  reckoned. 
Play  is  in  his  view  the  instinctive  performance 
by  the  young  of  every  creature  of  the  bodily  and 
mental  acts  which  will  be  necessary  to  it  in  the 
serious  business  of  after  life.  It  is  not  a  repeti- 
tion of  these  acts  but  a  preparation  for  them,  a 
needful  practice  and  training  of  the  powers  for  later 
use.  Such  play  is  forced  upon  the  young  creature 
by  inherited  instinct.  The  little  girl  does  not 
play  with  her  doll  because  she  has  had  to  nurse 
babies  and  feels  the  want  of  the  accustomed 
occupation  and  interest,  but  because  she  is  a 
descendant  of  innumerable  mothers,  and  in  the 
normal  order  of  things  will  have  herself  to  be  a 
mother  in  her  turn.  The  kitten  pursues  the 
rolling  ball  of  worsted  long  before  she  has  fleshed 
her  maiden  claws  on  her  first  mouse.  It  is  not 
the  hunts  of  the  past  but  of  the  future  that  urge 
her  to  the  mimic  chase.  So  powerful  is  this 
instinct  that,  far  from  waiting  till  there  is  an 
accumulation  of  surplus  energy  ready  for  dis- 
charge, it  forces  the  already  wearied  creature  to 
renewed  activity.  A  retriever  may  be  tired  out 
with  a  long  run  after  his  mistress's  bicycle,  but 
when  they  come  home  by  the  lake  in  the  park, 
*  Herbert  Spencer,  l.c. 


'A 


NEW  VIEWS   ON   PLAY  AND   WORK         15 

if  she  shy  a  bit  of  stick  into  the  water,  however 
weary  he  is  he  will  plunge  in  after  it  and  bring  it 
to  her  feet.  Dr.  Groos  even  makes  the  suggestive 
remark  that  in  the  economy  of  nature  the  creature 
does  not  play  because  it  is  young  but  is  young 
because  it  has  to  play — that  the  provision  of  a 
season  of  youth  gives  it  an  opportunity  to  play, 
and  in  playing  to  develop  the  powers  on  which  in 
maturity  existence  and  nutriment  depend. 

The  close  connection  of  art  with  play, 
emphasized  in  the  first  edition  of  this  Manual, 
has  been,  since  the  time  at  least  of  Schiller,  a 
commonplace.  The  poet's  theory  of  play  already 
referred  to  passes  insensibly  into  a  theory  of  art, 
and  Herbert  Spencer's  treatment  of  the  same 
theme  is  placed  in  the  chapter  on  the  aesthetic 
sentiments.  It  is  understood  that  the  studies  of 
play  by  Professor  Groos  are  only  preliminary  to 
a  treatment  of  the  philosophy  of  art.  Though 
there  is  this  obvious  connection,  there  are  charac- 
teristic differences  between  the  two  which  will  be 
dealt  with  on  a  succeeding  page.  A  good  deal  how- 
ever that  may  be  said  with  truth  about  play  applies 
equally  to  art,  and  the  view  of  play  just  noticed 
corresponds  to  the  conception  of  primitive  art, 
which  vindicates  for  it  a  serious  even  a  vital 
relation  to  the  practical  business  of  life. 

"Tfn  examination  of  the  work  of  primitive 
peoples  leads  to  a  result  almost  as  striking  as 
the  analysis  of  their //<2jk.  In  the  modern  system 
of  ideas  in  which  we  have  grown  up,  work  and 
play  are  polar  opposites,  and  it  is  somewhat 
startling  to  be  told  that  *  in  the  early  days  of  the 


i6  .ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

development  of  human  civilization  work  and  play 
cannot  be  separated.'  In  the  book  from  which 
these  words  are  taken  ^  Professor  Biicher  points 
out  the  difficulty  which  the  temperament  of  the 
savage  puts  in  the  way  of  the  continuous  work  we 
are  accustomed  to.  He  can  only  do  such  work  by 
turning  work  into  play  with  the  aid  of  rhythmical 
chants  which  accompany  and  lighten  the  labour. 
Still  more  salutary  is  this  artistic  aid  to  labour  in 
cases  where  the  combined  efforts  of  a  number  of 
workers  are  necessary.  Here  the  regulation  by 
measure  of  the  joint  movements  is  absolutely 
essential  to  any  effective  operations,  while  the 
contagious  excitement  communicated  by  the  com- 
mon vocal  and  muscular  expression  carries  labour 
up  into  the  ideal  region  of  art. 

Among  primitive  peoples,  accordingly,  the 
activities  of  play,  of  art,  and  of  serious  business 
are  not  distinct,  but  in  a  sense  interpenetrate,  so 
that  something  of  the  dlan  and  freshness  of  the 
two  former  is  carried  into  the  latter  more  prosaic 
goings-on,  while  on  the  other  side  life  yokes  to 
her  car  of  progress  these  gracious  agencies,  which 
are  made,  without  their  consciousness,  to  labour  for 
the  solid  advancement  of  the  race. 

From  this  altered  standpoint  we  can  see  how  to 
correct  certain  unsatisfactory  features  in  the  Spen- 
cerian  treatment  of  aesthetics.  Both  Schiller  and 
his  English  follower  give  to  art,  if  not  to  play,  a 
high  spiritual  rank.  *  What  is  man,'  asks  the 
former  '  before  beauty  draws  out  in  him  the  capa-  - 

^K.  Biicher,   Arbeit  und  Rhythtnus,   2*^   Aufl.,    Leipzig,    1899, 
p.  250. 


RELATION   OF   ART  TO   LIFE  17 

city  for  free  enjoyment  and  the  serene  Form  tames 
the  wildness  of  life/  and  again,  '  Man  only  plays 
when  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  term  he  is  Man, 
and  he  is  only  completely  Man  when  he  plays/ 
while  Herbert  Spencer  says  that  '  the  higher  but 
less  essential  powers  as  well  as  the  lower  but  more 
essential  powers  .  .  .  have  activities  that  are  carried 
on  for  the  sake  of  the  immediate  gratifications  de- 
rived, without  reference  to  ulterior  benefits ;  and  to 
such  higher  powers  aesthetic  products  yield  these 
substituted  activities  as  games  yield  them  to  various 
lower  powers/^  And  yet  we  are  taught  at  the 
same  time  that  the  energy  which  results  in  the 
play  wherein  man  reaches  his  full  human  develop- 
ment, and  which  ministers  to  the  higher  human 
powers,  is  only  a  kind  of  effervescence  of  the 
nature,  the  throwing-off  of  a  force  that  after  being 
for  a  time  pent-up  is  now  allowed  harmlessly  to 
run  to  waste.  The  considerations  just  brought 
before  the  reader  point  to  a  far  worthier  conception 
of  the  relation  of  art  to  the  higher  life  of  men. 
It  is  not  the  mere  froth  on  the  top  of  the  foaming 
wine  that  is  dissipated  into  air,  but  rather  the  very 
spirit  of  the  grape  that  rises  in  airy  globes  from 
the  amber  depths, 

*  Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country-green, 
Dance,  and  Provengal  song,  and  sun-burnt  mirth.' 

In  other  words  art  is  given  out  rather  from  the 
depths  of  the  nature  of  man  than  merely  from  off 
its  surface.  Without  losing  its  spontaneity  it  gives 
exercise  to,  and  in  exercising  expresses,  the  whole 

^  Principles  of  Psychology^  Part  ix.  ch.  ix. 
B 


i8  .ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

nature,  and   serves  in   the   picturesque  phrase  of 
Guyau  as  '  une  gymnastique  de  I'esprit.'  ^ 

§  6.  The  exalted  importance  of  Art  as  an  element  in 
Human  Life. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  tendency  of  the 
newer  results  of  speculation  on  these  subjects  has 
been  to  exalt  the  importance  of  art  as  an  element 
in  human  life.  It  is  true  that  no  higher  place 
could  ever  be  claimed  for  it  than  was  accorded  by 
thinkers  like  Schelling  in  the  great  philosophic 
age  of  a  century  ago.  The  arguments  based  on 
the  anthropological  studies  of  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century  are  on  a  different  plane 
from  the  idealistic  speculation  of  its  early  decades, 
but  the  result  on  aesthetic  theory  has  been  the 
same. 

In  this  connection  may  be  noticed  a  significant 
change  of  opinion  upon  the  question  of  the 
aesthetic  sense  in  animals.  It  is  now  generally 
acknowledged  that  aesthetic  feelings,  like  those  of 
an  ethical  character,  are  the  prerogative  of  man 
alone.2  In  any  discussion  of  the  origins  of  art, 
animals  cannot  be  ignored.  In  excited  move- 
ments and  cries  or  melodious  notes,  in  brilliant 
colours  and  pride  of  port,  in  a  love  of  what  is 
showy  and  glittering,  in  elaborate  constructions, 
they  act  and  produce  in  a  fashion  that  at  any  rate 
reminds  us  of  the  artistic  activities  of  men.     In 

"^  Les  problemes  de  r Esthitique  Contemporaine,  Paris,  1884,  p.  10. 

^  *  Though  animals  may  be  incidentally  attracted  by  beautiful 
objects  they  have  no  aesthetic  sense  of  beauty. '  Prof.  Lloyd  Morgan, 
Anitnal  Life  and  httelligencey  London,  1 890-1,  p.  413. 


NATURE  OF  THE  ARTISTIC   IMPULSE      19 

the  first  edition  of  this  Manual  there  was  pointed 
out  one  essential  difference  between  these  animal 
performances  and  human  art,  in  that  the  former 
lack  the  element  of  Order,  as  manifested  in  / 
rhythm  or  proportion,  without  which  art  cannot 
exist.  Naturalists  now  go  further  and  reject  the 
view,  to  which  the  language  of  Darwin  seemed  to 
lend  colour,  that  the  females  of  animals,  especially 
birds,  exercise  aesthetic  choice  at  pairing  time  in 
favour  of  the  most  beautifully  marked  suitors.  It 
is  the  custom  now  to  regard  these  secondary 
marks  of  sex,  often  more  gaudy  than  pleasing, 
which  are  actively  flaunted  before  the  hen  in  pre- 
nuptial  performances,  as  a  striking  display  in- 
tended to  impress  the  female  with  the  sex  and 
the  ardour  of  the  wooer,  rather  than  as  an 
exhibition  of  what  is  specifically  beautiful. 

§  7.  Becent  Speculation  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
Artistic  Impulse  in  Man. 

Up  to  this  point  we  have  been  concerned  with 
historical  inferences  drawn  from  objective  facts 
scientifically  observed  and  grouped,  that  have 
resulted  in  new  views  upon  the  conditions  and 
organization  of  the  life  of  primitive  man.  On  the 
subjective  or  psychological  side  as  well  as  on  that 
of  sociology  the  question  of  the  origin  and  early 
forms  of  art  has  given  rise  to  a  good  deal  of 
discussion.  The  nature  of  the  artistic  impulse  in 
man,  and  the  relation  of  this  to  his  other  feelings 
and  powers,  have  been  the  problems  set,  and  these 
have  been  dealt  with  in  various  treatises,  among 
which  may  be  mentioned  those  of  Mr.  Henry  R. 


20  .ESTHETIC   LITERATURE 

Marshall  of  New  York.^  There  is  an  effort  here 
to  get  back  to  the  real  beginning  of  aesthetic 
activities  by  connecting  them  with  the  most 
elementary  feelings  of  our  nature.  The  author 
claims  that  *  ^Esthetics  may  be  properly  looked 
upon  as  a  special  branch  of  the  broader  science  of 
pleasure  and  pain/  that  it  is  *  a  branch  of  hedonics 
or  the  science  of  pleasure.'  In  defining  the  kind 
of  pleasure  coincident  with  the  activities  of  art, 
Mr.  Marshall  finds  that  the  reflex  satisfaction  to 
ourselves  arises  from  the  pleasing  of  others.  The 
art  impulse  he  defines  as  '  the  tendency  4o  do 
blindly  what  shall  attract  by  pleasing.'  ^  That 
this  explanation  hardly  covers  all  the  cases  in 
point  will  appear  as  we  proceed ;  it  is  noticed 
here  as  typical  of  many  suggestions  of  the  kind 
that  aim  at  fixing  the  special  characteristics  of 
the  pleasure  which  ex  hypothesi  the  free  activity 
of  art  must  afford. 

The  latest  and  by  far  the  most  elaborate  and 
most  satisfactory  work  in  this  field  is  that  by 
Dr.  Yrjo  Hirn,  of  the  University  of  Finland, 
already  referred  to.^  Dr.  Hirn  begins  with  a 
psychological  study  of  human  feelings,  from  the 
mass  of  which  he  distinguishes  those  that  assist 

^  Pahiy  Pleasure  and  Esthetics,  an  Essay  concerning  the  Psycho- 
logy of  Pain  and  Pleasure^  with  special  reference  to  /^ihetics, 
London,  1894. 

Esthetic  Principles,  New  York,  1895. 

^Pain,  etc.,  pp.  112,  347,  104. 

*  The  Origins  of  Art :  A  Psychological  and  Sociological  Inquiry ^ 
by  Yrjo  Hirn,  lecturer  on  Esthetic  and  Modern  Literature  at  the 
University  of  Finland,  Helsingfors.     London,  1900. 


IMPORTANCE   OP^   FORM    IN   ART  21 

at  the  birth  of  art,  and  proceeds,  in  chapters 
of  a  more  sociological  kind,  to  exhibit  the  working 
of  the  artistic  impulse  under  the  influence  of 
the  various  motives,  and  demands  operative  in 
early  communities.  The  book  is  distinguished 
from  the  majority  of  the  psychological  studies 
of  art  by  the  attention  given  to  the  subject 
of  artistic  form,  on  which  there  are  some  good 
remarks  in  the  chapter  on  *  Art  the  Reliever/ 
As  a  rule,  in  the  branch  of  aesthetic  literature 
under  notice,  more  attention  has  been  paid  to 
the  analysis  of  the  motive  power  or  impulse 
to  expression,  which  furnishes  as  it  were  the 
raw  material  of  art,  than  to  the  action  of  the 
human  intelligence  in  giving  form  to  the^  resulting 
product. 

This    last    offers,   however,   a   fruitful    field    of 
study.     The  fundamental  distinction  between  play 
and    art,    for    example,    is    to    be    found    in    the 
fact  that    the  activity   of  play,  as  being  essenti- 
ally exercise^  has  no  special  form  or  limit,  whereas 
I  the    artistic     activity     is     always     controlled     by 
1'  measure.      It  is  not  enough  to  see,  with  Professor 
j  Groos,  that   art    differs  from    play  in   its   ethical 
'  content,  and   its   relation  to  truth,^   or   with    Dr. 
Hirn,   that  art  is   distinct   from   play  in   that  in 
the   former    '  something  is   made   and  something 
survives.'^     The  point  to  be  emphasized   is  that 
what    is    made    and    survives    is   envisaged   as   a 
unity,  and  only  becomes  a  work  of  art  in  virtue 

"^  Die  Spiele  der  Menschen^  Theorie  des  Spieles,  der  aesthetische 
Standpunkt,  p.  507. 
^  Originsy  etc.,  p.  29. 


22  iCSTHETIC   LITERATURE 

of  its  distinctness  of  form,  whether  this  appears 
in  the  arts  of  movement  as  rhythm,  or  in  those 
of  rest  as  proportion  or  composition. 

Lastly,  it  may  be  noticed  that  the  psychologists 
seem  all  so  far  dominated  by  sociological  ideas 
as  to  insist  on  art  as  essentially  a  social  function. 
It  is  noteworthy  that  Grosse,  who  writes  avowedly 
from  the  sociological  standpoint,  admits  that 
'  one  cannot  say  that  aesthetic  production  pro- 
ceeds only  from  the  intention  of  affecting  others,'  ^ 
but  Hirn  commits  himself  to  the  statement  that 
*art  is  in  its  innermost  nature  a  social  activity.'^ 
It  is  difficult  to  see  how  a  conclusion  of  the  kind 
can  be  arrived  at  by  psychologists,  who  base 
art  on  the  phenomena  of  feeling  and  pleasure, 
which  belong  essentially  to  the  individual.  This 
question  will  be  touched  upon  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  objective  facts  of  art  on  a  later  page. 

1  Anfdnget  p.  47.  '  Origins ^  p.  74. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

§  8.  Intention  and  Plan  of  the  Work 

The  present  work  is  designed  to  deal  with  the 
arts  of  form,  in  the  shape  of  the  so-called  fine  arts 
of  Architecture,  Sculpture  and  Painting,  the  sub- 
ject of  the  decorative  or  industrial  arts  being 
omitted  from  consideration.  The  book  is  not 
intended  to  furnish  outlines  of  the  history  of  the 
arts,  nor  is  it  a  technical  manual ;  its  aim  is  rather 
to  discuss  briefly  and  in  a  simple  manner  some  of 
the  more  important  facts  and  laws  of  artistic 
production,  which  should  be  familiar  alike  to  the 
historical  student  of  art  and  to  the  practical 
worker. 

The  subject  falls  into  three  main  divisions.  In 
the  first  Part,  art  is  exhibited  as  a  product  of 
human  nature,  born  before  civilization,  but  nurtured 
by  civilization  to  fuller  growth.  The  second 
contains  some  general  discussion  of  the  conditions 
of  artistic  effect,  and  in  the  third  certain  points 
connected  with  the  three  great  arts  of  form  are 
selected  for  treatment,  the  aim   being   rather    to 


24  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

furnish  a  basis  for  intelligent  art  criticism,  than  to 
discuss  systematic  aesthetics.  The  object  is  a 
practical  one,  and  will  have  been  attained  if  the 
reader's  interest  be  stimulated  in  the  more  purely 
artistic  qualities  of  works  of  art.  These  qualities 
are  apt  sometimes  to  be  neglected  for  matters  of 
ethical  and  historical  moment,  with  which  the 
student  and  critic  of  art  is  not  directly  concerned, 
but  it  is  clear  that  there  can  be  no  advance  in 
public  comprehension  of  art  on  its  artistic  side, 
unless  attention  is  directed  more  strictly  to  the 
points  of  treatment  essential  to  artistic  expression, 
and  less  to  side-issues,  however  attractive  these 
may  be  for  literary  discussion. 

§  9.  The  Earliest  Activities  which  lead  on  to  Art. 

The  first  task  before  us  is  to  gain  some  know- 
ledge of  the  nature  of  the  artistic  activity  in  man, 
and  for  this  purpose  we  will  pass  in  review  some 
of  the  earliest  or  most  primitive  manifestations  of 
art,  or  at  any  rate  of  those  movements  of  action 
and  production  that  pass  ultimately  into  art. 

The  search  for  these  manifestations  carries  us 
back  to  a  remote,  though  not  the  remotest,  epoch 
of  human  history.  The  very  earliest  relics  of  man 
in  the  so-called  *  drift '  period  exhibit  no  distinct 
traces  of  artistic  activity,  though  at  the  same  time 
they  give  us  no  evidence  that  precludes  its 
existence.  Artistic  products  of  great  interest 
have  however  come  down  to  us  from  epochs  the 
remoteness  of  which  is  measured  by  tens  of 
thousands    of  years,    while    in    the  actual  world 


EARLY  ARTISTIC   ACTIVITIES  25 

of  to-day  there  are  forms  of  art  which  flourish 
among  the  very  poorest  and  most  *  primitive '  ^ 
peoples. 

Which  of  the  activities  in  question  are  the 
earliest  it  is  fruitless  to  inquire,  but  as  elementary 
as  any  others  are  personal  adornment  and  the 
dance  and  song.  In  the  inland  caves  of  western 
France,  inhabited  by  mankind  in  the  age  of  the 
mammoth,  have  been  found  collections  of  perforated 
sea-shells  that  must  have  been  imported  and  used 
for  the  adornment  of  the  person.^  The  motive  for 
the  decoration  is  a  matter  for  inquiry,  but  a  useful 
hint  is  given  by  the  fact  that. there  have  been  also 
found  under  similar  conditions,  perforated  in  the 
same  way  for  suspension,  the  teeth  of  various 
animals.  This  suggests  that  the  spoils  of  con- 
quered and  slain  beasts  were  worn  on  the  person 
as  a  token  of  triumph,  and  gives  colour  to  the 
hypothesis  of  Herbert  Spencer  that  the  trophy 
was  the  first  form  of  personal  adornment.^ 
Starting  from  beginnings  such  as  these,  we  find 
the  practice  of  decorating  the  person  carried 
among  primitive  peoples  to  quite  extraordinary 
lengths,  so  that  '  it  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say 
that  among  savages  no  demand  of  practical  life 
involves  such  lengthy  and  painstaking  preparations 
as  the   art  of   bodily  adornment,    including    the 

1  Primitive,  that  is,  in  comparison  with  the  civilized  races  of 
modern  Europe,  but  not  strictly  speaking  '  primitive  '  when  compared 
e.g.  with  the  pre-historic  cave-dwellers.  The  bearing  of  this 
distinction  will  be  explained  on  a  later  page. 

2  The  *  finds '  in  these  caves  are  described  and  figured  by 
M.  Piette  in  VArt  Pendant  VAge  du  Renne,  Paris,  1907. 

^  Principles  of  Sociongy^  Ceremonial  Institutions,  chapter  ii. 


26  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

arrangement  of  the  hair,  the  painting  of  the  skin, 
tattooing,  and  the  provision  of  numberless  knick- 
knacks  with  which  they  deck  their  limbs.' ^ 

With  respect  to  the  adornment  of  the  implement 
or  weapon,  Professor  Grosse  brings  evidence  to 
show  that  among  the  most  primitive  peoples  at 
present  existing  this  is  far  less  advanced  than 
personal  decoration.  ^  In  the  nature  of  things 
however  this  might  be  a  very  early  activity,  for 
the  implement  has  to  be  fashioned  carefully  by 
hand,  and  the  addition  of  ornament  is  technically 
a  simple  matter.  As  a  fact,  among  the  cave- 
dwellers,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  this  form  of 
art  was  highly  developed,  so  there  is  no  ground 
for  considering  it  essentially  later  than  the  adorn- 
ment of  the  person.  Here  too  the  motive  of  the 
work  is  a  matter  for  separate  inquiry. 

The  dance  is  the  characteristic  art  of  the  modern 
savage.  *  There  is  scarcely  any  fact  in  the  life  of 
primitive  peoples  that  is  better  established  than 
the  universal  prevalence,  the  constant  and  perse- 
vering exercise  of  the  dance.'  ^  These  dances,  the 
most  elaborate  of  which,  the  so-called  'corroborri' 
of  the  Australian  natives,  are  pictured  in  a  good 
description  which  Grosse  has  borrowed  for  his 
chapter  on  the  subject,*  are  of  two  kinds  called 
by  him  *  gymnastic '  and  *  mimetic'  As  we  find 
them  now  they  are  far  too  complicated  to  be 
called  primitive,  but  there  is  one  trait  about  them 
that  suggests  the  early  forms  in  which  they  may 

^  Bucher,  Arbeit  und  Rhythmus^  p.  15. 

^  Die  Anfdnge  der  Kunst^  p.  1 11.  ^  Bucher,  ibid.  p.  19. 

*  Anfdnge^  viii  Capitel,  Der  Tanz. 


ORIGIN   OF  PAINTING  AND  SCULPTURE    27 

have  begun.  Some  savages  are  described  as 
continuing  the  movements  of  the  dance,  when 
once  started,  in  so  indefatigable  a  fashion  that 
they  will  actually  go  on  till  they  drop.^  The 
mere  physical  exercise  has  intense  fascination  for 
them,  and  this  points  to  the  view  that  mere  move- 
ment is  the  initial  stage — that  the  caper  or  the 
fling,  with  a  free  play  of  the  limbs,  precedes  the 
measured  movements  of  the  dance.  Similarly 
the  music  or  noise  which  always  accompanies 
the  dance  ^  may  originate  in  the  whoop  or  holloa 
that  gives  exercise  to  the  vocal  organs.  The 
initial  activity  that  leads  on  to  the  human  dance 
may  thus  be  illustrated  by  the  energetic  muscular 
movements  of  the  youth  and  of  his  dog  when 
they  take  their  morning  run  together,  and  in  the 
hearty  ring  of  their  voices  in  the  shout  and  in 
the  bark  with  which  they  answer  each  other 
through  the  frosty  air. 

The  beginnings  of  painting  and  sculpture,  in 
the  arts  of  drawing  or  modelling  or  carving  a 
representation  of  a  natural  object,  we  should 
hardly  expect  to  find  at  the  most  remote  epochs, 
for  they  imply  a  considerablejnental  capacity. 

In  order  to  copy  a  thing  it  is  necessary  to 
isolate  it  from  other  objects,  to  concentrate  the 
attention  upon  it  and  repeatedly  to  compare  it 
with    the    imitation — processes    that    are    by    no 

^  *  Alle  Naturvolker  tanzen,  tanzen  bis  zur  Raserei  und  zur 
Erschopfung  ihrer  Krafte,  oft  bis  die  Tanzer  .  .  .  zu  Boden 
sinken.' — Biicher,  ibid.  p.  20. 

2 'There  is  no  dance  without  music,'  Richard  Wallaschek, 
Primitive  Music,  London,  1893,  P*  293. 


28  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF   ART 

means  primitive,  and  this  applies  still  more  to  the 
act  of  externalizing  a  mental  picture  or  remini- 
scence when  there  is  no  original  actually  present. 

As  a  fact,  however,  the  remote  pre-historic 
,  epoch  of  the  palaeolithic  cave-dwellers  of  France 
has  furnished  examples  of  these  forms  of  art  that 
are  not  mere  first  attempts,  but  give  evidence  of 
extraordinary  taste  and  skill.  They  are  mostly 
in  the  form  of  graphic  or  plastic  delineations  of 
animals  of  various  species  including  birds  and 
fishes  ;  and  these  are  sometimes  mere  portraits,  but 
at  other  times  decoratively  treated  representations 
in  which  natural  shapes  are  conventionalized  for 
an  artistic  purpose. 

Plate  I  shows  some  characteristic  examples, 
from  casts  of  originals  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
Museum  of  St.  Germain  near  Paris.  At  the  top 
is  a  piece  of  mammoth  tusk  on  which  is  incised 
a  sketch  of  a  mammoth,  that  must  have  been 
executed  by  some  one  who  had  seen  this  now 
extinct  creature  at  the  time  when  he  was  a 
denizen  of  Western  France,  perhaps  some  fifty 
thousand  years  ago.  The  mammoth  was  a  great 
elephant  with  a  shaggy  coat,  and  his  characteristics 
are  given  with  much  spirit  in  the  sketch.^  We 
see  his  huge  curved  tusks  at  the  left  hand 
extremity  of  the  fragment,  his   trunk    let    down 

*The  lines  on  the  cast  have  been  reinforced  with  pigment  to 
make  them  show  in  the  reduced  photograph.  There  is  no  element 
of  dubiety  about  these  lines,  which  are  plainly  visible  and  reveal 
under  a  magnifying  glass  the  fact  that  they  have  been  scratched 
by  hand  with  the  aid  of  a  sharp  point,  probably  of  a  knife  of  flint. 
They  have  in  fact  a  sort  of  *  burr '  like  that  of  a  dry-point  line  in 
2tching. 


ANIMAL  DELINEATION  39 

as  if  he  were  in  the  act  of  drinking,  his  lofty 
forehead,  his  little  eye.  There  are  the  foreleg 
and  the  outlines  of  the  body  even  to  the  tail ;  and, 
above  all,  the  long  hair  upon  his  breast  and  body, 
which  marks  the  species  off  from  the  smooth- 
skinned  elephants  of  the  modern  world. 

The  lowest  object  on  the  plate  is  a  compara- 
tively clumsy  attempt  to  render  the  same  creature 
in  sculpture,  the  tusks  being  massed  with  the  pro- 
jecting trunk  and  the  four  legs  drawn  together  at 
the  feet,  the  tail  whisking  up  over  the  back. 

Between  the  above  is  shown  what  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  works  of  art  in  the  world.  It  is 
a  dagger  of  reindeer  horn,  the  hilt  of  which  is 
formed  by  a  figure  of  the  reindeer  itself,  with  its 
fore  legs  doubled  up  under  its  body  and  the  hind 
legs  stretched  out  to  join  the  hilt  to  the  blade. 
The  head  is  thrown  back  and  the  horns  lie  along 
the  back  so  as  to  mass  like  the  forelegs  with  the 
trunk.^  Here  is  a  good  deal  more  than  a  mere 
portrait  of  a  reindeer,  for  the  natural  shape  is 
modified  to  suit  the  decorative  purpose,  the  form  of 
the  animal  coming  ultimately  into  the  figure  of  a 
very  serviceable  hilt.  This,  which  is  only  the  best 
of  a  number  of  similar  objects,  gives  quite  sufficient 
proof  that  the  decoration  of  implements  is  a  very 
early  form  of  the  artistic  activity  of  man.  Independ- 
ent of  this  decorative  use  of  animal  forms,  there  have 
also  been  found  implements  of  bone  adorned  with 

^  MM.  Lartet  and  Christy,  when  they  published  the  piece  in  the 
Revue  Archeologique  for  1864,  suggested  it  was  only  an  unfinished 
sketch.  The  original  shows  more  detail  than  can  be  seen  in  the 
photograph. 


30  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

dots,  zig-zags  and  diamonds  in  simple  geometrical 
patterns  in  relief.  These  certainly  did  not  come 
into  being  like  many  similar  patterns  among 
modern  savages  through  a  progressive  degenera- 
tion in  the  representations  of  natural  objects 
(Introduction,  p.  5).  The  existence  at  the  same 
time  of  purely  naturalistic  work  in  such  abundance, 
and  the  absence  of  examples  showing  any  of  the 
stages  of  degeneration,  preclude  this  hypothesis, 
and  we  must  take  the  ornaments  as  freely  invented 
linear  forms. 

It  has  been  aptly  remarked  by  Grosse  ^  that  the 
excellence  of  this  work  considered  as  the  skilful 
representation  of  nature,  though  at  first  sight  it 
seems  something  marvellous,  may  be  explained  in 
part  from  the  conditions  under  which  it  was  pro- 
duced. The  carvings  and  sketches  are  the  work 
of  hunters,  and  their  excellence  is  the  result  of 
those  powers  of  keen  and  accurate  observation 
and  that  skill  of  hand  which  are  developed  by  the 
hunter's  mode  of  life.  That  the  subjects  of  the 
representation  are  animals  follows  from  the  fact 
that  it  is  upon  the  beasts  of  the  forest  and  the 
scaly  denizens  of  the  streams  that  the  interest  and 
faculties  of  the  hunter  and  fisher  are  concentrated. 
It  is  however  one  thing  to  suggest  why  these 
representations  of  nature  have  been  made  so  spirited 
and  lifelike,  and  it  is  quite  another  to  give  a  reason 
why  they  should  have  been  made  at  all.  A  mo- 
ment's speculation  may  be  indulged  in  as  to  the 
genesis  of  this  form  of  production. 

A  very  plausible  theory  finds  the  preliminary 

'^  Anfdnge,  p.  185  t. 


GESTURE  AND   THE  GRAPHIC  ART         31 

stages  of  the  graphic  art  in  gesture.  Nothing  is 
more  natural  than  to  accompany  the  contemplation 
of  some  object  of  interest  in  motion  by  corre- 
sponding movements.  The  action  of  the  younger 
Mr.  Weller's  tongue,  in  sympathy  with  the  pot- 
hooks he  was  laboriously  forming  on  the  notepaper 
beneath,  is  in  this  sense  typical.  The  same  thing 
may  occur  in  the  case  of  an  object  of  interest  at  rest, 
and  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  the  drawing  of  the 
mammoth  had  the  following  origin.  An  experi- 
enced hunter  points  out  to  his  son  in  the  distance 
a  specimen  of  the  big  game  of  the  district,  now 
perhaps,  owing  to  the  change  of  climate,  already 
becoming  scarce.  He  calls  his  attention  to  the 
most  characteristic  features  of  the  beast,  his  curved 
tusks,  his  trunk,  the  shaggy  hair  upon  his  breast, 
and  with  the  forefinger  describes  in  the  air  or  on 
the  palm  of  the  other  hand  the  contours  of  the 
perhaps  not  clearly  discernible  forms.  Von  den 
Steinen  tells  us^  that  in  Central  Brazil  the  native 
who  wishes  to  convey  to  another  the  idea  of  an 
animal  imitates  its  cry  with  his  voice,  and  at  the 
same  time  describes  any  characteristic  feature  of 
the  beast  with  his  finger  in  the  air.  If  this  is  not 
enough  he  draws  with  a  stick  upon  the  earth  or  in 
the  sand.  To  sketch  with  the  ready  point  of  the 
flint  dagger  upon  some  smooth  surface,  so  that  the 
lines  will  be  permanent,  marks  a  distinct  but  easily 
conceivable  advance,  and  when  the  object  thus 
drawn  on  is  portable,  so  that  it  can  be  carried 
about  and  exhibited,  the  work,  as  will  be  presently 
seen,  assumes  a  new  character.      In  the  case  before 

^  Unter  den  Naturv8lkern  Zentral  Brasiliens,  p.  243. 


32  THE  BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

US  the  drawing  seems  to  have  been  done  rather 
from  memory  than  from  the  life,  and  may  have 
been  executed  in  the  cave  for  the  benefit  of  the 
home-keeping  members  of  the  family,  for  the 
material  is  not  something  picked  up  hap-hazard  in 
the  field,  but  a  portion  of  mammoth  tusk,  perhaps 
of  the  very  creature  itself  whose  downfall  the 
picture  may  be  meant  to  celebrate. 

An  origin  of  the  same  kind  for  plastic  repro- 
duction may  not  be  so  easy  to  see,  but  here 
we  have  as  a  preliminary  the  habit  of  producing 
solid  forms  of  desired  shape  in  the  fabrication 
of  weapons  and  implements,  and  we  have  also 
the  fact  that,  as  we  see  every  day,  natural  objects 
such  as  stones  or  gnarled  trunks  or  bones  often 
suggest  a  likeness  to  something  in  the  animal 
creation,  and  would  almost  force  the  hand,  already 
trained  in  chipping  a  hard  material  into  shape, 
to  bring  the  likeness  out  more  clearly.^  From 
this  point  of  view  there  is  more  to  lead  up  to, 
the  plastic  than  the  graphic  representation,  for 
the  imitative  sketch  involves  a  new  technique. 
A  plastic  form  may  conceivably  perpetuate  a 
gesture,  and  we  have  illustrations  of  this  before 
us  when  we  take  a  country  walk.  No  gesture 
is  more  familiar  than  that  of  pointing  out  the 
way.  Peasant  folks  constantly  use  it  to  set  the 
belated  traveller  on  his  course.  The  plastic  repre- 
sentation of  a  hand  with  finger  outstretched  is 
a    common    finish    to    the    arm    of    the    country 

^  Some  of  the  plastic  representations  of  animals  in  the  *  finds '  of 
the  caves  seem  to  have  had  this  origin,  e.g.  Lartet  and  Christy, 
Reliquia  Aqmtanica^  pi.  B.  xxiv.  6 


NATURE   OF  THE  ARTISTIC   IMPULSE      33 

Sign-post  and   we  may  regard   it,   if  we  like,   as 
one  of  the  '  origins '  of  the  art  of  sculpture. 

§  10.  Eelation  of  the  foregoing  to  current  Theories 
of  the  Artistic  Impulse. 

So  far  there  have  been  noticed  examples  of 
early  activities  in  the  fields  that  become  in  time 
those  of  decoration,  of  the  dance  and  music,  of 
painting  and  of  sculpture.  Is  there  anything 
strictly  artistic  about  them  and  have  they  any 
element  in  common  ?  The  primary  motive  of 
personal  adornment,  as  suggested  by  the  hanging 
of  trophies  round  the  victor's  limbs,  may  be  indi- 
vidual distinction  ;  that  of  the  dance  and  song 
a  mere  physical  discharge  of  stored-up  energy ; 
that  of  the  simple  linear  pattern  on  the  imple- 
ment half-aimless  *  whittling '  with  the  idle  knife  ; 
that  of  painting  and  sculpture  the  wish  to 
convey  information.  Can  we  bring  all  these  vari- 
ously-motived activities  under  any  one  of  the 
principles  which  have  been  suggested  for  the 
explanation  of  the  artistic  impulse?  Some  one 
or  other  of  these  principles  is  illustrated  by  each 
of  them,  but  what  we  need  is  to  find  a  single 
principle  that  will  apply  to  all.  Thus  the  older  ,-- 
doctrine,  that  art  in  all  its  forms  represents  a  'S 
I  disinterested  yearning  after  the  beautiful,  may  '  ^ 
apply  to  decoration  but  not  to  delineatory  draw-  y 
ing,  for,  as  von  den  Steinen  observes,  among 
primitive  peoples  drawing,  like  gesture,  is  used 
to  convey  information  and  not  to  portray  what 
is  beautiful.-^     The  desire  to  *  attract  by  pleasing ' 

*  Unter  den  Naturvolkern,  p  243. 
C 


34  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

which  is  Mr.  Henry  R.  Marshall's  explanation 
of  the  artistic  impulse^  will  not  account  for 
the  initial  activity  of  the  dance  and  song,  nor 
will  it  fit  in  with  the  fact  that  a  whole  depart- 
ment of  personal  decoration  among  savages, 
called  by  the  Germans  *  Schreckschmuck,*  has  for 
its  object  to  terrify  opponents  and  not  to  con- 
ciliate the  well-disposed.^  The  Spencerian  view 
of  the  source  of  art  in  play,  and  the  explanation 
of  this  last  as  the  throwing-off  of  an  accumula- 
tion of  surplus  energy,  elucidates  the  primitive 
dance  and  song  but  has  no  bearing  on  the 
sporting  of  the  trophy  as  an  origin  of  personal 
decoration. 

The  view  that  is  content  to  see  the  differentia 
of  art  in  the  freedom  and  spontaneity  of  the 
artistic  impulse  must  be  taken  in  connection  with 
the  one  which  emphasizes  the  fact  that  artistic 
activities  are  indulged  in  because  they  are 
pleasurable.  It  has  been  contended  above  that 
the  old  view  of  the  freedom  of  art,  though  it 
needs  to  be  judiciously  guarded,  does  really 
embody  a  truth  of  vital  importance,  and  if  this 
be  accepted,  the  element  of  pleasure  follow^  as  a 
matter  of  course.  If  the  artistic  impulse  have  this 
character  of  freedom  and  spontaneity  it  must  be 
pleasurable,  or  it  would  not  be  indulged  in,  while 
conversely  if  it  be  pleasurable  it  must  be  free,  as 
constraint  is  incompatible  with  this  feeling.  The 
mere  vague  conceptions  of  freedom  and  pleasant- 
ness do  not  however  carry  us  far.     Freedom  in 

^  See  antey  p.  20. 

2  Hirn,  Origins^  p.  272. 


ART  AS   SELF-EXTERN ALIZATI  ON  35 

this  sense  cannot  mean  simple  aimlessness.  It 
must  imply  an  activity  determined  either  by 
instinct  or  reason.  We  may  call  it  self- 
determined,  but  the  second  word  of  the  compound 
implies  direction  of  one  kind  or  another,  and  the 
problem  is  to  find  the  nature  and  tendency  of 
this.  We  may  in  like  manner  grant  that  the 
activities  of  art  are  pleasurable,  but  there  are  so 
many  sorts  of  pleasure  that  this  is  not  enough, 
and  we  must  go  on  to  ask  what  kind  of  satisfac- 
tion it  is  that  they  afford.  The  following  is  offered 
as  a  general  solution  of  the  questions  thus  raised  : 

§11.  Art  as  Self-Externalization. 

All  the  primitive  activities  that  have  been 
passed  in  review  may  be  included  under  the  one 
principle  that  they  are  activities  of  self-exter- 
nalization,  resulting  in  a  quickening  of  the  sense 
of  personality.  This  is  their  tendency,  and  from 
this  arises  their  pleasurable  quality.  A  little 
consideration  will  show  that  this  principle  (i) 
applies  to  all  the  cases  under  notice,  (2)  preserves 
intact  the  postulated  element  of  freedom,  (3) 
exhibits  the  artistic  activity  as  in  its  inception 
essentially  a  matter  of  the  individual  and  not  of 
society,  for  however  important  social  influences 
are  in  fostering  the  development  of  art  they  do 
not  explain  its  origin. 

If  personal  adornment  begin  in  the  trophy,  it 
is  just  the  concrete  embodiment  of  the  victor's 
sense  of  triumph  after  strain  and  conflict — perhaps 
the  most  powerful  feeling  of  joy  known  to  men. 
His  deed  hangs  there,  incorporate  in  the  symbol 


>. 


36  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

which  sustains  his  own  consciousness  of  the  deed 
and  perpetuates  his  joy,  while  at  the  same  time  in 
the  admiration  of  others  begins  that  process  of 
the  nourishing  of  art  through  social  influences,  to 
the  importance  of  which  the  later  sections  of  this 
chapter  bear  testimony.  Every  other  form  of 
bodily  decoration  ministers  to  the  same  conscious- 
ness and  pride  of  personality.  The  pose  and 
parure  of  the  youthful  brave  may  at  one  time 
impress  the  idea  of  his  unique  distinction  on  a 
pre- destined  bride  :  at  another  that  of  his  weight 
and  influence  in  palaver  on  his  fellow  chiefs  :  at  a 
third  time  that  of  his  vigour  and  fierceness  on  the 
approaching  foemen.  The  practical  value  of  the 
display  is  however  independent  of  its  reflex  in- 
fluence on  himself,  which  is  always  of  the  kind 
under  notice. 

The  decoration  of  the  weapon  involves  two 
separate  processes,  one  the  simple  act  of  adorn- 
ment, which  as  concerning  the  instruments  of 
victory  is  almost  the  same  as  the  adornment  of 
the  victor's  person  ;  the  other  the  making  of  a 
design,  involving  perhaps  the  copying  or  adapta- 
tion of  natural  forms.  The  latter  process  ifuits 
significance  for  the  purpose  in  hand  will  be  noticed 
presently.  The  simple  act  of  adornment  confers 
distinction  on  the  object  thus  treated  and  indirectly 
upon  its  holder,  for  it  is  in  a  very  real  sense  a  part 
of  himself  This  relation  of  the  owner  to  the 
weapon  is  not  a  social  matter,  but  is  really  a  secret 
between  the  two,  though  afterwards  an  occasion  for 
public  display.  Very  instructive  in  this  connection 
is  the  delightful  passage  in  Robert  Louis  Steven- 


APPLtCATlONS   OF  THE   PRINCIPLE^         37 

son's  Kidnapped,  in  which,  after  the  fight  on 
board  the  ship,  Alan  Breck  sets  to  work  to  make 
his  *  Song  of  the  Sword.'  The  impulse  to  the 
artistic  expression  is  here  absolutely  individual. 
It  is  the  enhanced  personality  of  the  '  bonny 
fighter'  against  odds  that  seethes  in  the  innermost 
depths  of  the  being  till  the  artistic  energy  rises 
and  becomes  incorporate  in  form.  This  form  is 
then  as  it  were  detached  and  becomes  a  social 
fact,  giving  renewed  delight  to  its  creator  by  the 
effect  of  it  upon  his  fellows.^ 

In  the  case  of  the  dance  and  song  the  applica- 
bility of  the  principle  under  discussion  needs  no 
demonstration.  The  simplest  mode  in  which  man 
can  externalize  himself  in  a  form  of  expression  is 
by  gesture,  and  the  dance  begins,  we  have  con- 
tended, in  free  bodily  movements  accompanied  by 
cries  that  work  off  a  mood  of  physical  excitement. 
How  pleasurable  these  are  every  person  in  vigor- 
ous health  knows  well,  and  such  a  one  knows  too 
how  they  stimulate  the  circulation,  animate  the 
torpid  faculties  and  bring  all  the  powers  of  the 
being    into    readiness    for    action.^     The    further 

^The  passage  runs  as  follows: — *As  he  did  so'  [cleared  the 
round-house  of  the  corpses]  *he  kept  humming  and  singing  and 
whistling  to  himself,  like  a  man  trying  to  recall  an  air  ;  only  what 
he  was  trying,  was  to  make  one.  All  the  while,  the  flush  was  in 
his  face,  and  his  eyes  were  as  bright  as  a  five-year-old  child's  with  a 
new  toy.  And  presently  he  sat  down  upon  the  table,  sword  in 
hand  ;  the  air  that  he  was  making  all  the  time  began  to  run  a 
little  clearer,  and  then  clearer  still ;  and  then  he  burst  with  a  great 
voice  into  a  Gaelic  song.  ...  He  sang  it  often  afterwards,  and  the 
thing  became  popular.' — Kidnapped,  chapter  x. 

^  *  Pleasure  feeds  and  nurtures  itself  by  expression.'     *  Pleasure 


3S  THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

elaboration  of  these  movements  into  significant 
gesture  and  mimicry  is  accompanied  by  the  same 
quickened  sense  of  individuality.  The  playing  of 
a  part  doubles  in  a  way  the  personality.  There  is 
a  consciousness  of  self  held  in  common  with  that 
of  the  persona  for  the  moment  assumed,  and  the 
two  act  and  react  on  each  other. 

The  pleasure  of  imitation  is  still  more  marked 
when  it  results  in  a  lasting  production,  like  the 
sketch  of  the  mammoth  or  the  figure  of  the  rein- 
deer on  the  hilt.  Whatever  was  the  rational 
motive  underlying  the  act,  it  is  inconceivable  that 
the  delineation  '  can  have  been  accomplished 
without  a  reflex  thrill  of  pleasure.  In  the  first 
place  there  is  an  act  of  expression  that  has  taken 
the  form  of  a  difficult  achievement,  and  to  every 
one  his  own  work,  an  outcome  of  himself,  gives 
delight.  Aristotle  noticed  long  ago  that  artists — 
he  specially  instances  poets — love  their  own 
creations  as  if  they  were  their  children,^  and  in 
another  place  he  refers  to  the  delight  in  a  piece  of 
good  imitation.  The  thing  copied  need  not  in 
itself,  he  says,  be  interesting,  but  when  we  com- 
pare the  copy  with  the  original  and  discern  the 
one  in  the  other  the  discovery  of  the  likeness  gives 
pleasure.^  In  the  second  place  there  is  the 
accomplishment  of  something  that  gives  to  others 
a  proof  of  our  skill,  and  the  bit  of  mammoth  ivory 
or  the  dagger  hilt  becomes  a  trophy  exalting  its 
creator  and  possessor  among  his  fellows. 

is  always  connected  with  an  enhancement  ...  of  the  vital 
functions.' — Him,  Origins,  pp.  41,  46. 

^Etk.  Nic,  ix.  7,  3.  "^Rhet.y  i.  11.  23. 


PRE-HISTORIC  ART  AND  TOTEMISM        39 

§12.  Bearing  of  this  on  the  Doctrine  of  the  Freedom 
of  Art. 

That  these  subjective  feelings  are  real,  and 
that  they  arise  ever  freshly  in  the  mind  on  each 
repetition  of  the  same  or  similar  acts,  is  a  doctrine 
that  cannot  be  too  often  or  too  strongly  asserted. 
The  fact  that  the  drawing  answers  from  the  very 
first  the  purpose  of  demonstration,  and  that  in 
another  state  of  society  it  may  subserve  other  and 
more  elaborate  social  ends,  does  not  really  alter 
the  case.  It  is  true  that  among  modern  savages 
the  representation  of  natural  objects,  chiefly 
animals,  is  largely  employed  for  those  totemistic 
and  magical  functions  to  which  so  much  attention 
is  given  by  sociologists.  It  is  however  extremely 
doubtful  whether  anything  of  this  kind  existed  in 
the  days  of  quaternary  man.  From  what  we 
know  of  the  savage  of  to-day  it  might  be  argued 
that  the  drawing  of  the  mammoth  was  intended  as 
a  pledge  of  the  re-appearance  of  the  creature  itself 
— that  the  drawing  would  attract  the  original  by 
sympathetic  magic  within  range  of  weapons  ;  and 
again,  on  a  similar  basis  of  analogy,  that  there 
were  men  among  the  cave-dwellers  with  rein- 
deer totems,  and  that  they  signed  their  implements 
with  the  totem  mark,  just  as  they  seem  to  have 
scratched  private  signs  of  ownership  on  their 
utensils  of  bone.-^  Have  we  any  justification  how- 
ever for  throwing  back  into  the  millenniums  of 
the  pre-historic  past  the  elaborate  religious  and 
mystical  apparatus  of  modern  savagery  ?     In  the 

*  Reliqui(B  Aquitaniccey  pi.  B.  xxvii. ,  etc 


40  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

opinion  of  the  present  writer  any  such  inter- 
pretation of  the  drawings  and  carvings  is 
exceedingly  unlikely.  We  are  accustomed  to 
speak  (as  in  these  pages)  of  existing  hunter 
tribes,  like  the  aborigines  of  Australia,  as  being 
in  a  *  primitive'  condition,  but  the  term  is  only 
used  relatively,  for  as  a  fact  anything  less 
*  primitive '  in  the  strict  sense  than  their  elaborate 
ceremonials  and  beliefs  cannot  well  be  imagined. 
These  represent  no  doubt  a  growth  through  long 
ages,  but  from  how  distant  a  date  this  has  been 
going  on  we  cannot  tell.  The  animals  seem  to  take 
the  same  common-sense  view  of  the  world  that  is 
taken  by  civilized  man.  Assuming  the  evolution 
of  man  from  lower  forms  of  life,  when  did  this 
strange  tangle  of  mystical  beliefs  begin  to  spring  up 
in  the  humanized  intelligence,  and  how  far  had  it 
beset  the  once  clear  channels  of  the  brain  when  the 
contemporaries  of  the  mammoth  and  reindeer 
inhabited  the  plains  of  western  France  ?  In  the 
absence  of  all  evidence  of  the  mental  state  of 
the  cave-dwellers  save  their  burial  customs  and 
their  works  of  industry  and  art,  there  seems  no 
reason  to  suppose  them  harassed  by  those 
apprehensions  and  prohibitions  which  must  make 
a  nightmare  of  life.  The  view  here  taken  is 
supported  by  the  authority  of  Gros§e,  who  writes 
that  'as  long  as  there  is  no  proof — [of  any 
religious  or  magical  character  about  the  representa- 
tions] *  and  up  to  now  we  have  seen  no  shadow  of 
such  a  proof — so  long  we  have  simply  no  justifi- 
cation for  explaining  these  figures  as  being 
anything  else  but  what  on  the  surface  they  appear 


IMPORTANCE  OF   FORM   IN  ART  41 

to  be.'  1  To  put  the  matter  in  a  form  that  will 
appeal  to  any  practical  artist,  the  work  is  too 
fresh  too  spirited  too  lifelike  to  be  inspired  by  the 
deadening  and  enslaving  notions  that  make  up  so 
large  a  part  of  the  religion  of  the  modern  savage. 
Dr.  Groos  says  that  *in  the  primitive  arts  of 
drawing  and  sculpture,  so  long  as  they  serve  no 
religious  end,  the  pure  pleasure  of  the  worker  in 
his  own  skill  is  the  foremost  element,'  and  he 
writes  again  of  *  the  joy  in  productive  activity  as 
such.' 2  This  element,  it  is  here  contended,  is 
uppermost  in  the  strictly  *  primitive '  graphic  and 
plastic  imitation,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  used  from 
the  first  to  convey  information  no  more  destroys 
this  element  than  it  is  destroyed  in  the  modern 
painter's  work  because  he  counts  on  the  sale  of 
it  to  pay  the  coal-bill. 

§  13.  Form  in  Art :  Importance  in  all  its  manifestations 
of  the  principle  of  Order. 

The  object  of  the  foregoing  has  been  to  exhibit 
these  initial  activities  that  lead  on  to  art,  as 
grouped  together  under  a  single  psychological 
principle.  The  account  does  not  give  in  the  strict 
logical  sense  their  differentia,  for  there  are  other 
human  activities  of  which  much  the  same  defini- 
tion may  be  given,  but  which  have  no  connection 
with  art.  They  are  not  themselves  necessarily 
artistic,  but  they  lead  on  to  art  in  the  sense  that 
they  all  represent  the  raw  material,  so  to  say,  out 
of  which    the   really   artistic   product    is  formed. 

*  Anfange,  p.  191. 

^  Die  Spiele  der  MenscheUj  pp.  570,  510. 


42  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

They  can  only  become  artistic  by  the  addition  of 
another  essential  element,  not  present  in  play  nor 
in  the  activity  that  simulates  art  of  the  animals, 
and  this  element  may  be  described  generally  as 
Order,  under  which  main  idea  are  included  such 
manifestations  of  the  principle  as  Rhythm, 
Measure,  Proportion,  and  all  those  modes  of 
arrangement  used  by  artists  that  may  be  sum- 
marized as  Composition. 

The  psychology  of  this  principle,  that  is  to  say 
the  operation  of  it  in  the  individual  in  regulating 
and  defining  the  action,  or  product  of  the  artistic 
impulse,  is  at  least  as  interesting  a  subject  of 
study  as  the  psychology  of  the  impulse  itself,  but 
into  this  subject  there  is  no  space  to  enter. 
Schiller  uses  a  good  phrase  when  he  asks  What 
is  man  before  .  .  .  the  serene  Form  tames  the 
wildness  of  life  ?^  It  is  indeed  one  of  the  notable 
facts  of  human  nature  that  in  art  this  free  pleasur- 
able activity  of  self-expression  obeys  a  certain 
inner  control,  that  transforms  it  from  a  mere 
animal  effervescence  into  a  rational  product  of 
ordered  parts  in  a  clearly  defined  unity.  This 
taming  of  the  wildness  of  life  is  in  progress  from 
the  beginning  of  human  development.  The  con- 
trolling force  is  as  constant  and  as  powerful  as  is 
the  motor  force  that  gives  the  impulse  to  expres- 
sion. The  most  conspicuous  form  in  which  it  is 
exercised  is  that  of  Rhythm,  of  which  Karl  Biicher 
says  that  it  is  the  one  element  of  art  for  which  all 

^  *  Was  ist  der  Mensch,  ehe  ...  die  ruhige  Form  das  wilde  Leben 
besanftigt,'  Aesthetische  Erziehung^  Brief  24,  SchrifUn^  ed.  Goedeke, 
Theil  X.  p.  358. 


RttVtHM  AND   COMPOSITION  43 

peoples  have  a  natural  sensibility.^  It  is  the 
fundamental  principle  in  music,  for  we  are  assured 
by  Wallaschek  that  *  a  general  view  of  primitive 
music  shows  us  that  in  the  most  primitive  state  the 
main  constituent  of  music  has  always  been  rhythm 
while  melody  has  remained  an  accessory  .  .  . 
The  most  primitive  music  is  no  melody,  but  noise 
reduced  to  time.'  As  *  dancing  and  music  are  in 
fact  one  art  of  expression  '^  so  Rhythm  creates  in 
the  dance  an  art  of  form  out  of  the  free  bodily 
movements,  just  as  it  makes  an  art  of  music  out  of 
a  succession  of  noises.  *  It  is  impossible '  Hirn 
remarks  *  to  see  anything  artistic  in  the  spectacle 
of  a  man  leaping  or  shouting  for  joy,'  ^  but  the  re- 
duction of  these  to  Measure  is  the  beginning  of  an 
art  that  we  shall  see  developed  among  the  Greeks 
to  one  of  great  beauty  and  ethical  significance. 

The  action  of  the  same  principle  of  Measure  in 
another  shape  is  operative  in  the  arts  of  form 
proper,  those,  that  is,  of  form  in  rest. 

It  is  perhaps  least  in  evidence  in  the  case  of 
the  arts  of  delineation.  Where  natural  forms  are 
conventionalized  for  a  decorative  purpose,  as  in  the 
reindeer  hilt,  we  have  of  course  an  advanced 
application  of  the  principle  of  Order.  The  repre- 
sentation of  the  natural  object  is  controlled  at 
every  instant  by  considerations  external  to  itself, 
and  the  fact  that,  in  the  instance  referred  to,  these 

^  Arbeit  und  Rhythmus^  p.  358. 

^  Primitive  Music^  an  inquiry  into  the  Origin  and  Development  of 
Music,  Songs,  Instruments^  Dances,  and  Pantomimes  of  savage  races ^ 
London,  1893,  pp.  291-4. 

^  Origins^  p.  87. 


44  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ARt 

considerations  have  been  so  well  apprehended 
and  made  effective,  imparts  to  the  work  a  real 
artistic  value.  Even  in  the  naturalistic  sketch, 
however,  that  form  of  primitive  activity  in  which 
the  working  of  the  principle  seems  least  apparent, 
we  can  find  a  trace  of  Order  in  the  relation  observed 
between  the  drawing  and  the  space  it  has  to 
occupy.  Mere  imitation  of  nature,  like  the  mere 
caper  and  shout,  is  not  in  itself  artistic,  though  it 
brings  into  existence  the  raw  material  of  art. 
The  imitation  is  only  made  artistic  by  the  opera- 
tion of  the  controlling  law  of  Composition,  and 
this  already  begins  to  work  when  a  representation 
of  nature  has  to  go  in  a  certain  space.  If  the 
existing  piece  of  ivory  on  which  the  mammoth  is 
drawn  be  of  the  size  it  was  originally — and  this 
seems  indicated  by  the  circumstances  of  its  dis- 
covery— then  the  arrangement  of  the  drawing 
within  its  contour  shows  distinct  artistic  taste. 

In  the  case  of  bodily  adornment,  the  universality 
and  elaboration  of  this  are  not  more  remarkable 
than  its  just  adaptation  to  the  figure  on  which  it 
is  disposed.  So  well  observed,  as  a  rule,  are  the 
laws  of  good  taste  in  decoration  among  even  the 
most  primitive  folk,  that  Gottfried  Semper  thought 
that  the  canons  of  decorative  art  in  general  were 
formed  upon  the  tradition  established  from  the 
earliest  times  in  this  particular  department.  The 
relation  of  the  band,  the  pendent,  the  crest,  the 
mask,  to  the  parts  of  the  body  encircled  or 
accentuated  or  protected,  is  observed  with  so  just 
a  sense  of  structure  and  function  that  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  art  were  in  this  way  established  for 


ANIMALS    INCAPABLE   OF  THESE  45 

all  time.^  In  the  disposition  of  the  elements  of  the 
ornamentation  there  is  the  same  tact  in  alternation 
and  grouping,  and  Grosse  observes  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  rhythmical  arrangement  is  no  less  common 
and  conspicuous  in  the  art  of  the  lowest  races 
than  in  that  of  the  most  civilized,^  and  the  instinct 
for  composing  whatever  decorative  elements  are 
present  into  a  pattern  is  practically  universal 
among  men,  while  it  is  entirely  unknown  among 
animals.  The  pattern  does  not  consist  in  the 
repetition  of  single  forms  but  of  combinations  of 
forms,  while  in  more  advanced  instances  of  artistic 
composition  we  find,  as  we  shall  see,  not  symmetry 
or  mechanical  regularity,  but  balance,  and  a  har- 
mony of  parts  not  equal,  but  related  to  each  other 
according  to  a  more  subtle  scheme  of  proportion. 
Now  it  is  impossible  to  credit  the  animals  with  a 
perception  of  order  and  arrangement  of  this  kind, 
however  well  supplied  they  may  be  with  the 
emotional  excitement  which  leads  to  different 
forms  of  '  play.'  Thus,  the  bird's  song  is  just 
the  free  outpouring  of  lovely  notes,  exquisite  in 
themselves  and  endeared  through  the  poetic 
associations  they  arouse  in  us,  but  wanting  the 
element  of  Time,  and  that  accentuation  of  a 
measure  so  essential  to  the  effect  of  music.  Some 
species  of  birds  will  show  delight  in  brightly- 
coloured  objects,  but  they  never  go  on  to  dispose 
these  in  such  a  way  as  to  form  a  pattern.  They 
will  relieve  a  mood  of  strong  excitement,  as  at 
pairing  time,  by  curious  gestures  and  contortions, 

^  Ueher  dieformelle  Gesetzmassigkeit  des  Schmtukes^  etc.,  1856. 
^Anfangey  p.  142. 


46  THE  BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

by  strutting  up  and  down  or  running  round  in  a 
ring,  by  soaring  and  then  making  a  sudden  drop,^ 
and  all  the  while  utter  their  notes  and  cries,  but  no 
further  step  is  made  towards  the  evolution  of  that 
universal  early  form  of  human  art — the  rhythmical 
dance  performed  in  unison  with  the  rhythmical 
song.  What  is  wanting  no  doubt  is  sufficient 
power  of  abstraction.  It  is  evident  that  for  the 
perception  of  the  charm  of  alternation,  of  the 
regular  recurrence  of  complex  forms,  and  of 
periodical  emphasis  as  in  the  dance  or  song,  what 
is  needed  is  a  certain  capacity  in  the  intelligence 
of  holding  one  impression  for  a  while  till  another 
comes  to  companion  it,  and  then  making  com- 
parisons between  them.  The  animal  is  too  much 
at  the  mercy  of  the  present  sensation  to  be  able 
in  this  way  to  retain  impressions  and  compare 
them,  and  man  is  the  only  artist  because  he  alone 
possesses  the  sense  of  Rhythm  and  Proportion.  It 
will  easily  be  seen  that  any  quality  which  consti- 
tutes a  distinct  differentia  between  man  and  the 
animals  is  one  that  by  its  continued  exercise  will 
raise  man  higher  and  higher  in  the  scale  of  civi- 
lization. The  value  of  it  in  the  development  of 
the  intellectual  and  moral  nature  is  incalculable, 
and  it  is  thus  that  '  the  serene  Form  tames  the 
wildness  of  life.' 

§  14.  Social  Institutions  and  the  stimulus  they  afford 
to  Art:  the  Festival. 

No  more    space  can   here  be  devoted   to  the 
fascinating  subject  of  the  origin  and  earliest  forms 
*  Darwin,  The  Descent  of  Man^  ii.  pp.  50,  74  f. 


SOCIAL  STIMULUS   TO  ART  47 

of  the  artistic  activity  of  men.  We  must  now 
proceed  to  trace  the  steps  by  which  these  primitive 
activities  become  disciplined  to  higher  service 
among  the  civilized  races  of  the  ancient  world. 

The  consideration  of  art  in  its  decorative  aspects 
cannot  be  pursued  here,  or  it  might  be  shown  how 
it  advances  from  being  a  simple  artistic  expression 
of  care  for  a  person  or  object,  till  it  has  invested 
all  the  outward  apparatus  of  civic,  religious  and 
national  life  with  poetic  associations  and  with 
beauty.  All  buildings  and  objects  used  by  mem- 
bers of  a  family  or  brotherhood  or  state  possessed 
in  ancient  Egypt,  Greece  and  Rome  a  distinctive 
character  as  connected  with  common  celebrations, 
I  and  their  place  in  the  life  of  the  community  was 
accentuated  by  decorative  statues  and  reliefs,  by 
the  representation  of  sacred  creatures  and  flowers, 
and  by  the  significant  device  on  warlike  shield  and 
standard  or  on  the  merchant's  coin.  To  most  people 
in  modern  times  the  objects  that  make  up  their 
material  environment  are  mere  *  things.'  Cheap, 
abundant  and  without  character,  we  use  them  and 
lose  them  and  replace  them  without  a  thought. 
,  In  old  days  they  were  few  in  number  and  propor- 
( tionately  prized.  They  lasted  a  lifetime  and 
became  as  it  were  a  part  of  their  owner's  person- 
ality ;  they  descended  from  generation  to  generation 
and  family  piety  made  them  sacred ;  they  were 
tokens  of  the  citizen's  rank  and  office  in  the 
community  and  his  patriotism  warmed  at  their 
sight ;  or,  lastly,  as  connected  with  religion  they 
were  the  pledge  of  the  protecting  care  of  the  deity 
of  his  clan  or  state.    Art  expressing  or  symbolizing 


48  THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

all  this  through  significant  decorative  forms,  wove 
a  spell  around  the  material  necessary  objects  to  be 
found  in  every  house  or  city.  Over  all  there  was 
a  charm,  a  glamour  of  pious  association,  which 
carried  something  of  the  ideal  excitement  of  art 
into  every  corner  of  the  home  and  into  every 
department  of  human  activity. 

In  tracing  the  influence  of  social  feeling  when 
it  sets  in  motion  those  waves  of  ideal  sentiment 
that  stir  the  mind  to  artistic  expression,  we 
quickly  find  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the 
most  important  institutions  of  which  the  history  of 
civilization  takes  account.  This  institution  is  the 
Festival,  the  ideas  and  habits  connected  with  which 
may  be  said  among  some  peoples  to  have  filled  a 
large  part  of  human  life.  It  is  indeed  hardly  too 
much  to  say  that  it  is  to  the  festival — family,  com- 
munal, tribal — that  almost  all  the  forms  of  art 
known  to  ancient  and  medieval  times  owe  their 
origin,  or  at  least  development,  and  so  important 
does  this  make  it  for  the  proper  comprehension  of 
the  art  of  old  times,  that  some  special  pages  must 
be  devoted  to  the  subject  of  the  festal  celebration 
in  the  classical  and  medieval  worlds  (§§  23-31, 
and  48-60).  Here  it  is  sufficient  to  explain  that 
though,  naturally,  its  characteristic  note  is  gladness, 
yet  we  must  include  under  the  same  idea  those 
celebrations  of  a  mournful  kind  connected  with 
death  and  sepulture.  It  is  as  the  expression  of 
common  sentiment  that  we  are  chiefly  concerned 
with  the  institution,  and  in  this  respect  mortuary 
ceremonies,  as  especially  affecting  the  family,  are 
as  germane  to  our  present  purpose   as  tribal  or 


IMPORTANCE   OF  THE   FESTIVAL  49 

national    thanksgivings,  or   the    periodical    feasts 
that  divide  the  husbandman's  year. 

§  15.  The  festal  origin  of  graphic  and  plastic 
Decoration ; 

The  very  term  *  festal  celebration  *  implies  on 
the  one  hand  the  stimulus  to  feeling  of  which 
we  have  already  spoken,  and  on  the  other  an 
impulse  to  attach  the  emotion  aroused  to  the 
person  or  idea  commemorated,  and  to  embody 
it  in  some  temporary  or  permanent  outward  form. 
Hence  the  constructor  and  the  decorator,  the 
graphic  and  the  plastic  artist  had  to  be  at  hand 
at  festival-tide  to  supply  apparatus  for  the  cere- 
mony, and  especially  by  their  imitative  skill  to 
bring  before  the  eyes  of  the  people  the  similitude 
of  the  persons  or  the  deeds  of  those  in  whose 
honour  they  were  assembled.  The  painter  in 
the  earliest  times  was  almost  exclusively  exer- 
cised upon  tasks  of  this  kind,  and  worked  in 
close  fellowship  with  the  sculptor.  Indeed  the 
most  general  form  of  decoration  in  the  ancient 
world,  the  painted  relief,  stands  midway  between 
painting  and  sculpture,  partaking  of  the  nature 
of  both.  It  was  the  view  of  Gottfried  Semper, 
explained  in  many  passages  of  his  book  der  Stil, 
that  this  form  of  decoration  was  only  a  copy 
of  embroidered  or  figured  stuffs  employed  from 
the  earliest  period  for  similar  purposes.  These 
products  of  the  textile  craft  would  be  used  for 
the  temporary  clothing  of  festal  structures,  and 
would  exhibit,  in  gaily  coloured  designs,  forms 
and    objects    significant    of  the    purpose    of   the 


50  THE  BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

celebration.  The  carved  paintings  or  painted 
carvings,  which  cover  the  walls  of  Egyptian 
temples  and  run  as  a  dado  round  the  rooms  of 
Assyrian  palaces,  certainly  do  resemble  textile 
products,  and  give  a  colour  to  Semper's  theory. 
They  are  at  any  rate  thoroughly  festal  in  feeling — 
a  gay  and  varied  show,  representing  the  glories  of 
the  gods  and  the  deeds  of  kings  or  the  departed 
great  ones  of  the  earth.  Work  of  this  kind  in  low 
relief  is  not  properly  sculpture,  and  to  sculpture 
proper  belongs  a  somewhat  different  character. 

§  16.  and  of  monumeiital  Sculpture ; 

When  sculpture  is  not  confined  to  decorative 
functions  or  to  the  mere  imitation  of  nature, 
it  assumes  a  monumental  or  commemorative 
character  on  which  a  word  may  be  said  in 
passing.  It  is  obvious  that  to  set  up  a  monu- 
ment to  a  deity  or  to  a  human  being  is  a  different 
thing  from  merely  perpetuating  his  real  or  sup- 
posed lineaments.  It  implies  not  a  record  only, 
but  the  expression  of  honouring  regard,  and  a 
claim  upon  future  generations  that  they  will 
share,  or  at  any  rate  respect,  the  feeling  thus 
perpetuated.  This  character,  attaching  not  to  all 
but  to  many  of  the  most  important  works  of 
sculpture  produced  in  ancient  times,  possesses 
significance  for  the  theory  of  the  art  in  general 
which  must  be  left  for  treatment  to  a  subsequent 
page.  The  same  feeling  receives  so  much  more 
potent  an  expression  in  the  monument  of  Archi- 
tecture that  it  is  in  connection  with  this  art  that 
it  will  best  be  noticed  here, 


THE   ORIGIN   OF   ARCHITECTURE  51 

§  17.  and  especially  of  Architecture. 

It  is  to  the  festal  celebration  that  we  must 
look  for  the  origin  of  many  distinctive  features 
of  this  most  imposing  of  the  arts  of  form. 
Architecture  may  seem  at  first  sight  to  stand 
on  a  different  footing  from  the  other  arts  and 
to  originate,  not  in  any  impulse  towards  self- 
externalization,  or  towards  expression  of  any 
kind,  but  in  operations  of  use  and  necessity,  the 
construction  of  the  shelter  and  the  defence.  But 
it  is  by  no  means  sufficient  to  explain  archi- 
tecture as  the  addition  of  artistic  form  and 
decoration  to  utilitarian  structures.  It  is  true, 
as  we  shall  see,  that  the  artistic  effect  of  architec- 
ture is  intimately  related  to,  though  not  always 
entirely  dependent  on,  the  considerations  of  use 
which  furnish  a  sort  of  program  of  its  opera- 
tions, but  at  the  same  time  the  whole  spirit  of 
the  art  is  opposed  to  the  idea  of  complete 
subordination  to  utility.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a 
glance  at  the  early  history  of  the  art  in  Egypt, 
Babylonia  and  Greece,  during  those  all-important 
periods  when  so  many  of  its  normal  forms  were 
being  fixed  for  after-time,  exhibits  to  us  architec- 
ture as  far  more  an  art  of  free  expression  than 
a  merely  utilitarian  craft.  The  buildings  which 
in  these  remote  periods  gave  architecture  the 
character  that  it  has  ever  since  retained,  were 
not  houses  or  ramparts,  but  Temples,  Palaces 
and  Tombs — structures  for  show  rather  than  for 
utility,  though  serving  at  the  same  time  (generally 
only    in    a   part    of  them)    a    practical    purpose. 


54  THE  BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

That  characteristic  of  architecture  which  we 
express  by  the  term  *  monumental/  the  dignity 
of  imposing  mass  and  rock-like  stability,  of 
awful  height  and  far-extended  breadth,  belongs 
as  a  rule  to  its  ideal  not  its  utilitarian  side. 
Only  perhaps  in  the  case  of  military  architecture 
do  we  find  this  aesthetic  quality  directly  due  to 
use.  A  fortress  is  only  really  effective  when  it 
presents  an  impenetrable,  unscalable  barrier  to 
advance,  and  hereby  it  impresses  the  imagination 
with  a  look  of  power.  In  the  palace-fortress, 
however,  represented  by  Assyrian  monuments,  and 
by  structures  like  the  Papal  palace  at  Avignon, 
or  the  Pitti  at  Florence,  there  is  a  more  direct 
aesthetic  appeal.  It  houses  and  protects  its  lord, 
but  at  the  same  time  announces,  in  very  insistent 
affirmation,  his  greatness. 

§  18.  The  ideal  character  of  the  earliest  permanent 
monuments. 

Among  the  relics  left  by  prehistoric  man  the 
grandest  and  the  most  mysterious  are  those  huge 
monoliths  or  groups  of  monoliths  known  generally 
as  *  Rude  Stone  Monuments.*  Putting  these  apart, 
the  existence  of  the  cave-dwellers,  the  lake-dwellers, 
the  hunters  of  the  primeval  forests,  is  only  known 
to  us  by  a  few  slight  remnants  here  and  there  of 
bones  or  artistically  wrought  implements  or  pot- 
sherds emerging  from  the  refuse-heaps  ;  but  these 
*  Menhirs '  and  '  Cromlechs  '  and  '  Dolmens '  of 
imperishable  stone,  often  sublime  by  their  very 
size  and  weight,  and  pregnant  with  a  meaning 
which  to  us  must  ever  remain  obscure — these  are 


RUDE   STONE   MONUMENTS  53 

memorials  of  a  very  different  stamp.  Who  reared 
them  we  know  not.  Some  find  in  them  so 
strong  a  family  likeness,  wherever  they  appear, 
that  they  are  fain  to  regard  them  as  a  creation 
of  one  people  or  family  of  peoples  and  as  be- 
longing to  one  definite  period  in  the  remote 
history  of  humanity,  while  others  look  on  them 
as  marking  merely  a  particular  stage  of  nascent 
civilization  recurring  at  different  times  among 
different  races  in  most  parts  of  the  globe.^  Of 
their  object  we  can  only  conjecture.  They  have 
been  regarded  as  temples  and  as  tombs,  but  as 
the  tomb  is  of  immeasurably  greater  antiquity 
than  the  temple,  it  is  a  far  safer  hypothesis  to 
treat  them  as  for  the  most  part  sepulchral,  and 
though  this  is  doubtful  in  the  case  of  the  Menhir 
(from  Breton  Mean,  Men, '  stone,'  and  Hir,  *  long  ') 
and  the  Cromlech  (from  Kroumm  'curved'  and 
Lec'h  '  stone '),  the  Dolmen  (from  Taol,  T61,  *  table ' 
and  Mean,  Men,  *  stone ')  ^ — sometimes  actually 
found  in  the  heart  of  a  mound  or  tumulus  of 
earth — was  certainly  a  funeral  chamber,  while  the 
*  alignement '  or  avenue  of  upright  stones  bordering 
a  causeway,  as  at  Carnac  in  Brittany,  might  mark 
out  an  imposing  approach  to  the  abode  of  death. 
But  whatever  they  are,  their  makers  were  men  of 
an  extended  vision  that  could  embrace  the  distant 
future,  men  strong  and  determined  to  do  a  work 

^  See  for  these  two  divergent  views  respectively  Du  Cleuziou,  La 
Creation  de  P Homme ^  Paris,  1887,  with  the  authors  there  referred 
to,  and  Lord  Avebury,  Pre- Historic  Times ^  6th  ed.  Lond.  1900, 
Chapter  v, 

^Le  Gonidec,  Dictionnaire  Breton- Frangaisy  Saint-Brieuc,  1850, 
s.vv. 


54  THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

that  should  endure.  We  cannot  gaze  up  at  these 
rugged  memorials  of  hoariest  antiquity  without  / 
feeling  them  to  be  the  expression  of  some  great 
idea  that  once  filled  the  minds  of  their  creators. 
We  need  not  speculate  upon  the  nature  of  this 
idea — a  hazardous  though  fascinating  theme — for 
all  we  want  from  these  Rude  Stone  Monuments 
is  evidence  that  at  a  very  early  date  in  the  history 
of  humanity  men  felt  an  impulse  to  embody  the 
faith  that  was  in  them  in  some  vast  and  enduring 
structure,  a  thing  not  for  material  use,  but  a  witness 
to  such  spiritual  conceptions  as  the  Family  Idea  or 
the  indestructibility  of  the  human  Intelligence.  So 
out  of  the  performance  of  funeral  rites — a  family 
celebration,  and  in  the  larger  sense  of  the  word  a 
festival — proceeds  the  desire  for  the  permanent  > 
expression  of  the  thought  that  filled  every  heart, 
and  with  the  satisfaction  of  this  desire,  monumental 
architecture,  and  not  only  this,  but  monumental 
sculpture  also  are  born. 

§  19.  Survival  of  the  spirit  of  the  earliest  monuments 
in  later  Architecture  and  Sculpture. 

For  though,  as  we  shall  see,  the  Rude  Stone 
Monument  is  not  in  a  technical  sense  the  beginning 
of  architecture — this  art  owing  its  actual  forms  to 
other  sources — and  though  as  compared  with  the 
speaking  image  in  a  statue  the  rough  stone  is  but 
dumbly  symbolic,  yet  all  great  architecture,  and  all 
great  sculpture  too,  borrow  something  of  the  spell 
that  works  here  so  potently.  There  is  in  fine 
sculpture  an  indescribable  remoteness  and  dignity. 
There  is   something  megalithic,  primeval,  in  the 


THE  EGYPTIAN   TEMPLE  55 

aspect  of  the  noblest  buildings  of  all  times.  Every 
architect  worthy  of  the  name  will  catch  the  same 
spirit.  Give  him  an  opportunity  and  allow  him  to 
create  in  freedom,  and  every  architect  worthy  of 
the  name  will  build  for  an  idea,  will  build  massively 
and  build  for  ever,  and  a  part  not  the  least  noble 
of  this  first  of  the  arts  will  descend  to  it  from  the 
far-distant  and  unknown  creators  of  Stonehenge 
and  Carnac. 

§  20.  The  festal  character  of  early  Architecture  shown 
in  the  Egyptian  Temple ; 

No  illustration  of  the  festal  character  of  early 
architectural  monuments  is  more  apt  for  our 
purpose  than  the  Egyptian  temple.  Nowhere  do 
we  see  more  clearly  how  little  in  these  vast  early 
structures  was  utilitarian  in  origin,  how  much  was 
designed,  carried  out  and  adorned  in  the  spirit  of 
Art.  The  Egyptian  temple  (Fig.  i)  comprised 
a  whole  collection  of  courts  and  halls  and 
chambers  open  or  secluded,  and  might  cover 
altogether  as  much  as  ten  acres  of  ground.  It 
consisted  however  essentially  of  two  parts,  one 
simple  and  unpretending  but  clothed  with  the 
highest  religious  importance,  the  other  unimportant 
in  its  religious  aspect  but  imposing  through 
material  size  and  splendour.  The  one  part  was 
made  up  of  a  stupendous  portal  itself  approached 
between  avenues  of  sculptured  figures,  of  immense 
open  courts  (A)  surrounded  with  colonnades,  of 
pillared  halls  (B)  vast  enough  in  plan  to  take  in  a 
northern  cathedral,  and  of  various  chambers  of 
a  more  secret  and  secluded  aspect.     These  were 


;** 


$6  THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

all  arranged  on  the  long  axis  of  the  whole  rect- 
angular group  of   buildings,   so   that   those    who 


Fig.  I.— Plan  of  Egyptian  Temple  (Edfou). 

entered  were  invited  to  traverse  them  in  a  straight 
line  towards  the  further  end  of  the  whole  edifice. 


EARLY   EGYPTIAN   SHRINES  57 

Here  at  last  would  have  been  found  the  other 
division  of  the  temple — consisting  only  of  a  small 
unlighted  untenanted  shrine  (C),  no  larger  than  an 
ordinary  modern  room,  within  which  were  preserved 
in  an  ark  or  coffer  certain  sacred  symbols  of  the 
deity.  This  only  was  the  Temple  proper — the 
structure,  that  is  to  say,  really  needed  and  used 
for  the  safe  keeping  of  the  fetish.  All  the  rest, 
avenue,  portal,  columned  court  and  pillared  hall, 
in  all  their  extent  and  majesty,  were  merely 
designed  for  show,  to  provide  a  fitting  and 
impressive  approach  that  should  strike  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  worshipper  and  fill  his  soul  with 
reverence  and  awe  (Fig.  i  and  Plate  II). 

Through  a  fortunate  circumstance  we  are  able 
to  get  behind  these  elaborate  constructions,  and 
learn  the  arrangements 
which  preceded  them  in 
respect  to  the  shrine 
and  its  furnishing  forth. 
The  pictures  in  the  Egyp- 
tian hieroglyphic  writing 

supply      us      with      minute       '  i^xc"  i^Early  Egyjnian  shrined, 

but  extremely  spirited  de-  from  hieroglyphic  inscriptions. 
lineations  of  structures  and  objects  which  may 
have  been  familiar  to  the  inhabitants  countless 
generations  earlier  than  the  erection  of  the  tombs 
and  temples  that  remain  to  us.  Among  these 
pictures  are  one  or  two  representing  small  huts  or 
arbours  of  rustic  work  in  the  form  given  in  Fig.  2. 
These,  we  learn,  are  shrines  of  the  gods,  and  they 
represent  doubtless  the  original  shape  of  the 
sacred  chamber,  which  remained  to   all  time  as 


58  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 

the  heart  and  kernel  of  the  vast  temples  of  a  Seti 
or  a  Ramses.  The  technical  construction  of  these 
early  shrines,  of  timber  and  wattle-work,  has  points 
of  interest  that  will  be  noticed  on  a  subsequent 
page  (§  144),  but  their  general  form  and  equip- 
ment are  highly  significant  for  our  present  purpose. 
Religious  worship,  it  need  not  be  said,  is  infinitely 
older  than  the  permanent  temple,  and  for  its 
performance  all  that  was  needed  was  a  gathering 
of  the  pious  at  a  sacred  spot  about  a  rustic  altar, 
to  which  might  be  added  a  movable  ark  or  a 
fixed  hut  or  canopy  for  the  safe  keeping  of  any 
totem,  fetish  or  apparatus  of  secret  mummery 
belonging  to  the  local  divinity.  Given  such  a 
permanent  structure,  the  approach  to  it  would 
be  specially  hallowed  ground  and  fenced  off 
from  profane  tread.  Any  simple  device  such  as 
a  lofty  flagstaff  would  be  adopted  to  give  it 
importance  from  afar,  and  on  the  occasion  of  the 
festival  every  kind  of  decoration  in  the  form  of 
fluttering  streamers,  branches  of  green  trees, 
garlands  of  flowers,  would  be  lavished  on  the 
building  and  its  approaches.  Here  in  the  early 
Egyptian  shrine,  we  see  at  the  entrance  two 
lofty  flagstaff's,  and  in  front  the  indication  of 
a  palisade,  evidently  marking  off  the  hallowed 
precinct  or  *  temenos.'  The  only  thing  not  shown 
is  accommodation  for  the  '^dituus,'  or  guardian  of 
the  shrine  and  its  contents,  but  he  probably  lived 
in  the  hut  itself,  just  as  in  the  early  record 
contained  in  Exodus  xxxiii.  11,  Joshua  lives  as 
-^dituus  in  the  tent-sanctuary  which  contained 
the   ark  or  holy  coffer  of  the    Israelite   nomads. 


^  ^ 


h      3 


THE   GREEK  TEMPLE  59 

Now  it  will  be  recognized  that  we  have  here, 
reduced  to  their  simplest  terms,  just  the  same 
elements  that  went  to  make  up  the  vast  complexus 
of  the  monumental  temples  of  Thebes  or  Abydos. 
The  shrine  remained  as  it  had  been,  though  now 
wrought  in  stone.  The  chambers  round  about  it 
in  the  hinder  portions  of  the  temple  were  lodgings 
of  the  priests  and  storerooms  for  the  offerings  of 
the  faithful ;  the  courts  and  columned  halls  were 
merely  developments  of  the  palisaded  enclosure. 
The  flagstaffs  actually  remained  till  the  latest 
times  erect  on  each  side  of  the  single  entrance  to 
the  temple,  though  the  idea  of  them  was  still 
further  carried  out  in  monumental  fashion  by  the 
rearing  of  two  vast  and  almost  completely  solid 
masses  of  masonry  of  tower-like  form,  called  after 
their  Greek  name  '  Pylons,'  that  flanked  the  gate- 
way and  gave  the  desired  imposing  aspect  to  the 
approach  towards  the  shrine  (Plate  II). 

§  21.  and  in  the  Temple  of  the  Greeks. 

A  very  similar  account  might  be  given  of  what 
is  perhaps  the  most  important  monument  in  the 
whole  history  of  architecture — the  Greek  Temple 
(Plate  III).  We  are  unfortunately  unable  to  trace 
its  development  so  clearly  as  is  the  case  with  the 
temple  of  Egypt,  but  it  is  evident  from  the  very 
sparing  references  thereto  in  Homer,-^  that  it  was 

^  In  Homer  the  gods  are  all  well  provided  with  sacred  enclosures 
{refievr])  and  smoking  open-air  altars  (/3w/ioO  but  few  with  shrines 
{prjoi).  Athene  has  a  vrjds  in  Troy  (//.  vi.  88)  and  at  Athens  (//.  ii. 
549),  and  Apollo  in  Troy  (//.  v.  445)  in  Chryse  (//.  i.  39)  and, 
apparently,  at  Delphi  {Od.  viii.  79). 


6o  THE   BEGINNINGS  OF  ART 

a  comparatively  late  addition  to  the  apparatus  of 
Hellenic  worship.  What  that  worship  was  in  the 
older  days  we  can  readily  imagine — days  when 
the  dwellers  in  the 

*  little  town  by  river  or  sea-shore, 
Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel,' 

met  around  the  woodland  altar  and  with  garland 
and  dance  and  hymn  and  music  of  pipe,  gave  up 
their  souls  to  festal  enjoyment  At  Olympia,  for 
example,  long  before  there  were  any  permanent 
buildings  on  the  spot,  there  existed  an  open-air 
altar  to  Zeus  in  the  midst  of  a  sacred  grove, 
whither  came  the  folk  from  far  and  near  to  consult 
the  local  oracle,  to  sacrifice  and  to  play,  and  on 
the  trees  of  which  they  hung  little  votive  images 
— portraits  often  of  themselves — by  which  the 
god  should  remember  them  for  good  when  they 
were  away.^  The  permanent  buildings  added 
later-on  were  of  the  same  character  as  the 
Egyptian — *  treasuries '  and  shrines  and  monu- 
mental structures  designed  to  give  dignity  and 
importance  to  the  place.  These  'treasuries*  at 
Olympia  were  separate  from  the  shrines,  though 
within  the  sacred  enclosure  and  so  under  pro- 
tection of  the  local  deities.  The  shrines  them- 
selves, though  at  first  they  may  have  been  like 
those  of  Egypt,  or  like  the  Hebrew  Temple,  secret 
chambers  forbidden  to  the  vulgar,  became  in 
historical  times  open  and  reasonably  accessible 
places,  of  the   character    rather  of  museums  for 

^  Adolf  Boetticher,  Olympia^  das  Fest  und  seine  Stdtte^  Berlin, 
1883,  p.  163  ff. 


3  J      >,       >       ' 


>   ',     '.       > 


.8  "S 


HH  E 


A  TABLE  OF  THE  ARTS  6i 

costly  and  beautiful  works  of  art  in  the  shape  of 
statues  and  votive  offerings,  than  secluded  haunts 
of  Divinity;  while  to  give  them  due  artistic 
embellishment  they  were  surrounded  by  a  ring  of 
columns  bearing  a  roof  and  forming  with  it  a  sort 
of  canopy  of  honour.  Instead  of  laying  out 
columned  courts  and  halls  preceding  the  shrine,  as 
in  Egypt,  the  Greeks  threw  their  colonnades  round 
the  shrine,  and  secured  in  this  way  a  far  more 
compact  and  artistic  arrangement.  The  root-idea 
is  however  the  same — architecture  providing  some 
imposing  permanent  apparatus  for  the  religious 
festival,  and  in  so  doing  taking  on  itself  the  same 
festal  character  as  an  art  of  free  expression  like 
the  rest.^ 

§  22.  TabiQar  view  of  the  beginnings  of  the  Arts. 

It  remains  now  to  draw  out  in  a  simple  table, 
given  on  page  62,  such  a  scheme  of  the  beginnings 
of  the  arts  as  may  correspond  to  the  considerations 
here  adduced.  In  such  a  matter  absolute  logical 
clearness  is  not  to  be  obtained,  or  only  to  be 
obtained  by  the  suppression  of  inconvenient  facts, 
and  it  will  suffice  if  the  scheme  show  a  general 
correspondence  with  the  evidence  of  the  primitive 
activities  of  art  already  passed  in  review.  The 
scheme  is  arranged  somewhat  after  the  manner  of 
the  multiplication  table,  the  two  elements  already 
spoken  of  being  shown  as  combining  to  produce 
the  different  forms  of  art.  The  raw  material  of 
art,  or,  if  the  metaphor  be  preferred,  the  motive 

^  For  the  festal  origin  of  architecture,  consult  Semper,  der  Stil^ 
especially  i,  p.  258  ff.  'das  Tapezierwesen  der  Alten.' 


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THE   BEGINNINGS   OF  ART 


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EXPLANATION   OF  THE  TABLE  63 

power  in  artistic  production  of  which  we  have 
formed  an  idea  in  earlier  sections,  may  be 
described  as  *  activities  of  self-externalization,  or 
more  simply,  activities  of  expression,  not  artistic' 

At  the  left  hand  is  placed  the  controlling 
regulative  principle  of  *  Order '  in  its  various 
manifestations,  and  it  is  not  till  this  brings  its 
influence  to  bear  on  the  '  Activities '  that  we  begin 
to  get  forms  of  art.  Thus  mere  expression  by 
voice  or  gesture,  or  mere  aimless  adornment  with 
dabs  or  scratches  is  not  art,  but  the  Song  and 
the  Dance  and  Decoration  in  colour  and  form 
are  artistic,  because  in  them  the  indispensable 
second  element  is  already  apparent.  From  this 
point  the  scheme  explains  itself  The  instinct 
of  imitation,  operating  simultaneously  with  the 
impulse  to  the  song  and  dance,  leads  at  once  to 
the  Mimic  Dance  accompanied,  as  the  dance 
always  is  accompanied  in  early  times,  by  rhyth- 
mical chant.  From  this  a  rapid  process  of 
development  results  under  conditions  to  be 
presently  noticed  (§  30)  in  that  important  form 
of  highly  advanced  art — the  Drama.  Meanwhile 
Imitation — not  in  itself  artistic — combines  with 
other  elements  to  produce  new  forms  of  art. 
Decoration  (that  is  to  say  adornment  made 
artistic)  in  colour  and  in  form,  with  the  addition 
of  the  imitation  of  nature,  produces  the  arts  of 
Painting  and  of  Sculpture,  but  in  the  case  of 
some  forms  at  any  rate  of  the  latter  an 
additional  monumental  quality  attaches  to  it 
(§  19),  and  it  must  be  held  to  borrow  a  share 
of  that    which    is,    as    we   have   seen,   the    chief 


64  THE   BEGINNINGS   OF   ART 

ingredient  in  architecture.  Lastly  Architecture 
herself  springs  partly  from  the  instinct  of  monu- 
ment-making and  partly  from  a  utilitarian  source, 
and  only  rises  to  the  dignity  of  an  art  when 
governed  by  the  principle  of  proportion.  Though 
this  is  all  that  is  essential  to  the  art,  yet  it  derives 
so  much  added  beauty  and  significance  from  a 
union  with  the  sister  arts  of  form,  that  we  may 
make  a  final  division  by  uniting  it  as  Advanced 
Architecture  with  decoration  in  form  and  colour. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FESTIVAL,  IN  ITS  RELATION  TO  THE 
FORM  AND  SPIRIT  OF  CLASSICAL  ART 

§  23.  The  Festival  as  the  nurse  of  Art 

The  source  of  art  in  a  condition  of  ideal  excite- 
ment in  which  the  individual,  externalizing  him- 
self in  expression,  is  carried  out  of  the  circle  of 
his  ordinary  existence  ;  the  contagious  nature  of 
this  excitement  as  it  is  developed  and  intensified 
in  the  festival,  and  the  consequent  stimulus  to  all 
forms  of  artistic  production,  have  already  been 
briefly  indicated. 

It  was  not  only  that  the  festival  gave  new 
tasks  to  the  constructive  artist  in  the  temporary 
apparatus  and  permanent  monument,  in  the  re- 
cording picture  or  glorifying  statue,  and  in  all  the 
thousand  forms  of  symbolic  or  decorative  art 
invoked  to  aid  ;  but  it  called  the  artist,  so  to  say, 
into  being,  gave  him  breath  and  nurture,  sur- 
rounded him  with  moving  forms  and  glowing 
colours,  and  with  everything  that  could  quicken 
the  activity  of  eye  and  hand.  Under  the  forcing 
atmosphere  of  the  festival  the  plant  of  art  shot  up 


66  THE   FESTIVAL 

apace.  Every  one  was  to  some  extent  an  artist, 
for  every  one  could  at  any  rate  move  in  the 
rhythmical  cadence  of  the  dance,  and  could  in 
general  accompany  such  movement  by  a  rhythmi- 
cal chant.  The  dance  and  song  are  at  once  the 
earliest  and  the  most  universal  of  all  the  forms  of 
art  connected  with  the  festival  and  claim  a  word 
in  this  place. 

§  24.  The  festal  Dance  among  savages ; 

The  dance  we  have  seen  to  be  the  art  par 
excellence  of  the  uncivilized  races  of  to-day,  and 
their  performances,  partly  mimetic  and  partly  to 
all  appearance  simply  gymnastic,  are  described  in 
the  chapter  on  the  dance  in  Professor  Grosse's 
already  cited  volume.^  With  these  in  themselves 
there  is  no  space  to  deal.  Our  concern  is  with 
the  classical  dance  in  its  relation  to  the  art  of 
sculpture,  and  it  only  needs  to  be  noticed  that 
the  celebrations  we  read  of  in  Homer  and 
Herodotus  in  Plato  and  Pausanias,  or  watch  to- 
day in  southern  lands  where  classical  tradition  still 
lingers,  are  only  more  refined  and  graceful  forms  of 
the  Australian  corroborri  or  the  displays  described 
by  travellers  among  the  Bushmen  or  Eskimo. 

Here  is  a  specimen  passage  from  the  narrative 
of  an  African  explorer  that  exhibits  a  primitive 
festal  rite,  as  it  has  probably  been  performed  from 
time  immemorial  under  similar  circumstances. 
*The  23rd  was  spent  by  all  the  people  of  the 
plain  country  as  a  thanksgiving  day,  and  the 
Bavira  women   met  at  the  camp  to  relieve  their 

^  Die  Anfdnge  der  Kunsty  viii  Capital,  der  Tanz. 


GREEK   DANCING  67 

joy  at  their  deliverance  from  their  inveterate 
enemy  with  dancing  and  singing  which  lasted 
from  9  a.m.  to  3  p.m.  Each  woman  and  child 
in  the  dance  circles  was  decked  with  bunches 
of  green  leaves  in  front  and  rear,  and  was  painted 
with  red  clay,  while  their  bodies  were  well  smeared 
with  butter.  The  dance  was  excellent  and  excit- 
ing and  not  ungraceful,  but  the  healthy  vocal 
harmony  was  better.  The  young  warriors  circled 
round  the  female  dancers  and  exhibited  their 
dexterity  with  the  spear.*  ^ 

§  25.  and  among  modem  and  ancient  Greeks. 

A  picture  almost  exactly  similar,  drawn  from 
the  practice  of  a  more  civilized  modern  race,  has 
been  supplied  by  Mr.  Theodore  Bent,  who  resided 
in  the  Grecian  Cyclades,  where  if  anywhere  in  the 
Hellas  of  our  own  time  old  customs  remain 
unchanged,  and  who  found  dancing  still  in  some 
places  a  passion  among  the  people.  At  Naxos, 
he  tells  us  *  one  of  their  local  dances,  here  called 
the  tirld,,  is  interesting,  being  danced  by  men  and 
women  in  a  semicircle,  with  their  hands  on  each 
other's  shoulders  .  .  .  the  charm  of  it  is  the 
singing,  which  the  dancers  carry  on  in  parts  as 
they  move  to  the  time  of  a  syravlion  or  drum.'^ 
Mr.  Bent  noticed  that  this  figure  was  really  only 
a  survival  of  a  famous  old  Greek  dance,  as  ancient 
as  Homer  and  described  by  Lucian  under  the 
title  of  the  Chain  (opjuLog).  In  the  '  Shield  of 
Achilles*  episode   in   the  I/zad^  occurs  the  well- 

^  Stanley,  In  Darkest  Africa^  Lond.  1890,  11.  p.  12c. 

2  The  Cyclades,  Lond.  1885,  p.  366.  ^  ^Qoo\i  xviii.  ad  fin. 


68  THE   FESTIVAL 

known  description  of  the  youths  and  fair  maidens 
circling  hand  in  hand,  the  girls  flower-crowned, 
the  youths  with  golden  swords  in  silver  belts, 
and  following  each  other  as  lightly  as  runs  the 
potter's  wheel ;  while  Lucian  in  his  dialogue  On 
Dancing  describes  the  same  sort  of  figure  as 
familiar  in  his  own  day,  in  the  second  century 
of  our  era.  *  The  Chain  is  a  dance  in  common 
of  youths  and  maidens,  linked  one  to  another  in 
order  like  a  flexible  band.  The  youth  leads  the 
round  with  the  step  of  an  athlete  footing  it  as 
he  will  afterwards  foot  it  in  war,  while  the  girl 
follows  with  steps  trained  in  all  maidenly 
decorum,  so  that  the  chain  is  woven  of  valour 
and  modesty.'^ 

§  26.  Characteristics  of  the  ancient  Dance  as  a 
form  of  Art. 

The  dances  here  described  are  of  the  simplest 
kind,  the  most  direct  artistic  outcome  of  physical 
excitement,  springing  from  some  definite  cause 
or  merely  from  abounding  bodily  vigour.  The 
Greeks,  whose  special  gift  it  was  to  develop  to 
the  utmost  perfection  of  form  all  media  of  artistic 
expression,  evolved  from  these  beginnings  a 
number  of  elaborate  figure  dances,  as  well  as 
other  forms  of  art  based  essentially  on  the  dance, 
and  at  the  same  time  made  this  a  stepping  stone 
to  the  more  advanced  branches  of  sculpture.  In 
Greece  the  dance  became  a  mode  of  artistic  ex- 
pression at  once  free  and  varied  and  beautiful.  ^ 

^  De  Saitaiione,  §  12. 

*  Emmanuel,  La  Danse  Grecque  Antique  d*aprh  les  Monuments 


BODILY  TRAINING   IN   GREECE  69 

The  dance  indeed  as  a  form  of  art  lacks  per- 
manence, but  when  it  is  reduced  to  a  system  it 
can  be  repeated  at  will  in  the  same  outward  show. 
In  all  but  permanence  it  is  like  sculpture,  the  pre- 
sentation of  the  beautiful  human  form  in  gestures 
and  positions  that  may  be  of  the  most  graceful 
and  expressive  kind,  and  deserves  the  appellation 
the  Germans  have  given  it  of  *bewegte  Plastik,' 
sculpture  in  motion.  Beauty  was  secured  in  the 
old  Greek  dances  first  through  the  actual  physical 
comeliness  of  the  performer,  and  next  through  the 
smoothness  and  rhythm  of  his  controlled  and 
calculated  movements.  Lucian  demands  for  the 
dancer  a  figure  like  the  *  Canon '  of  Polycleitus — 
a  typical  representation  in  sculpture  of  the 
youthful  athletic  form ;  he  must  be  *  nicely 
finished  off  at  every  point,  fair  of  mien,  full  of 
grace  and  symmetry,  nowhere  wanting,  never  less 
than  himself  ^  Such  natural  graces  would  be 
trained  and  developed  to  the  utmost  by  the 
exercises  of  the  gymnasium,  and  by  the  ennobling 
physical  and  moral  effect  of  complete  exposure 
in  heroic  nudity,  as  when  the  youthful  Sophocles 
danced  naked,  lyre  in  hand,  at  the  head  of  the 
triumphal  choir  after  Salamis.  At  Lacedaemon 
at  any  rate  the  same  care  was  spent  on  the 
physical  culture  of  the  girls,  who  also  danced 
and  exercised  and  raced  in  short  tunics  like  that  of 
the  charming  girl-runner  of  the  Vatican  Gallery,^ 

figures,  Paris,  1896,  gives  an  analysis  of  the  different  poses  and 
movements  of  the  Greek  dance. 

^  De  Saltatiom,  §81. 

^  Casts  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  in  the  Dundee  Museum,  etc. 


7tt 


THE   FESTIVAL 


while  if  it  was  only  at  Sparta  that  the  fair 
maidens  sported  with  bare  breast  and  limbs, 
there  were  in  every  part  of  Greece  professional 
female  dancers  and  flute  players  of  unsur- 
passed bodily  grace,  whose  performances  we 
may  judge  of  from  pictures  like  Fig.  3,  copied 
from  an  unpublished  vase  in  the  British  Museum,, 


Fig.  3. — Female  Dancer,  from  Greek  Vase. 


Interest  in  bodily  loveliness  found  an  outcome  in 
certain  contests  of  beauty  (KaWiareia)  held  in 
different  places,  about  which  we  unfortunately 
know  little  more  than  the  fact  of  their  existence. 
The  Scholiast  on  Homer,  Iliad  h^,  129  says,  'the 
Lesbians  hold  a  contest  of  beauty  among  the 
women  in  the  precinct  of  Hera,'  and  Athenaeus 
mentions  a  similar  institution  in  Arcadia,^  while 
the  Eleans  had  a  contest  of  beauty  for  men,  in 
which  the  handsomest  were  selected  to  carry  the 
sacrificial     vessels     in    the     festival    of    Athene.  ^ 


^  Deipnosophistce^  xiii.  §  90. 


*  Athenaeus,  ibid.  §  20. 


THE   POSTURE-DANCE  71 

Certain   KaWia-reta   of   a   more   private  kind    are 
described  in  the  Epistles  of  Alciphron. 

§  27.  Influence  of  the  Dance  on  Sculpture. 

The  effect  upon  the  study  of  sculpture  of  this 
cultivation  and  free  exposure  of  the  body  may 
easily  be  understood.  The  artist  would  hardly 
need  professional  models,  when  the  beautiful 
highly-trained  human  form  both  of  man  and 
woman,  not  in  rest  only  but  also  in  motion,  was 
so  freely  displayed  before  his  eyes.  The  close 
connection  between  the  pose  and  movement  of 
the  living  form  and  its  crystallization  in  marble  or 
bronze  was  noticed  by  the  ancients,  and  Athenseus 
remarks  that  there  were  *  relics  and  traces  of 
the  ancient  dancing  in  some  statues  made  by 
statuaries  of  old,  on  which  account  men  at  that 
time  paid  more  attention  to  moving  their  limbs 
with  graceful  gestures.'^  Moreover  it  was  not 
only  abstract  beauty  of  form  that  the  sculptor 
had  before  his  eyes,  but  that  beauty  schooled  to 
decorous  and  expressive  movement.  Damon  the 
Athenian,  as  quoted  by  Athenaius,  affirmed  that 
*  the  poets  originally  arranged  dances  for  freeborn 
men,  and  employed  figures  only  to  be  emblems  of 
what  was  being  sung,  always  preserving  in  them 
the  principles  of  nobility  and  manliness.'  '  If  any 
one,'  he  continued,  *  while  dancing,  indulged  in 
unseemly  postures  or  figures,  and  did  nothing  at 
all  corresponding  to  the  songs  sung  he  was  con- 
sidered blameworthy.  .  .  .  For  the  dance  is  a 
display  at  once  of  the  care  the  dancers  bestowed 

1  Ibid.  xiv.  §  26. 


7* 


THE   FESTIVAL 


on  their  persons  and  also  of  good  discipline.*^ 
Greek  feeling  for  decorum  forbade  anything 
sudden  or  strained  in  gesture,  and  as  much  care 
was  taken  over  the  composition  of  the  limbs  of 
the  dancer  as  the  statuary  expends  on  the  artistic 
arrangement  of  his  figure.  The  studied  posture- 
dance  was  thus  a  more  advanced  form  of  art  than 
the  mere  rhythmical  swing  of  limb  and  body,  and 


Fig.  4.— Dance  of  Armed  Youth,  from  a  Greek  Vase. 

was  held  by  the  Greeks  to  have  a  high  educa- 
tional value  for  the  performer.  Thus  the  primitive 
romp  and  caper  of  armed  youths  was  taken  up 
and  systematized  under  the  name  of  the  Pyrrhia 
dance  at  Sparta,  where  it  was  used  as  an  exercise 
for  war,  and  consisted  of  feigned  attack  and 
defence  and  the  like,  all  executed  in  time  to  music 

^Athenseus,  ibid.  §25. 


MIMIC   DANCES  AMONG  THE   GREEKS      1^ 

(Fig.  4).  The  Spartan  boys  had  their  special 
dance  (called  yvjuivoTraiSla)  which  they  performed 
naked  with  movements  of  the  whole  frame  accord- 
ing strictly  with  the  music.  Educational  too  were 
the  choral  celebrations  of  the  Laconian  girls, 
wherein,  as  Aristophanes  sings,  there  was  *the 
sound  of  dancing,  while  like  young  fillies  the 
maidens  on  the  banks  of  the  Eurotas  rapidly 
moved  their  feet,  and  their  hair  floated  back  like 
the  tresses  of  revelling  Bacchanals/^  The 
Spartans  indeed,  Lucian  says  generally,  did 
everything  with  the  Muses,  and  their  youths 
learned  to  dance  just  as  they  learned  to  fight.^ 

§  28.  The  mimic  Dances. 

In  the  style  of  dancing  here  described  there  is 
already  an  element  of  imitation,  for  the  gestures 
have  to  be  *  emblems  of  what  is  being  sung,'  but 
this  element  is  developed  still  further  in  those 
kinds  of  dances  which  are  specially  of  a  mimic 
order.  The  mimic  dance  is  a  form  of  savage  art 
of  a  very  primitive  type,  but  the  genius  of  the 
Greeks  moulded  it  into  that  elaborate  and  noble 
artistic  product  the  Attic  drama.  The  drama, 
tragic  and  comic,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  was 
evolved  out  of  a  mass  of  popular  performances  in 
which  the  human  figure  was  made  to  present  a 
series  of  solemn  or  ridiculous  ideas.  Such  exhi- 
bitions at  festal-tide  were  wanting  in  the  stately 
dignity  so  characteristic  of  the  higher  manifesta- 
tions of  Hellenic  art,  but  displayed  abundant 
action  and  variety.     They  were  less  regular  less 

^Lysistrata,  ad  fin.  ^De  Saltatione,  §  10. 


74  THE   FESTIVAL 

beautiful  less  purely  artistic  than  the  simpler 
dances  that  depended  only  on  the  display  of  lovely 
forms  and  poses,  but  they  were  kept  within  our 
definition  of  art  by  their  strict  obedience  to  the 
measure  marked  by  the  musical  accompanist. 
Were  we  not  expressly  informed  of  the  fact,  we 
should  have  doubted  whether  these  complex 
pantomimic  movements  could  have  been  actually; 
performed  to  music.  There  is  no  doubt,  however, 
that  music,  and  hence  rhythmical  measure,  were 
always  present.  The  best  idea  of  these  dances  in 
their  comparatively  rude  and  popular  form  we 
derive  from  a  passage  in  Xenophon's  Anabasis  or 
Expedition  of  the  Ten  Thousand,  describing  a 
banquet  given  by  the  officers  of  the  Greek  army 
to  the  chief  men  of  a  district  in  Asia  Minor  that 
they  were  traversing.  After  the  feast  the  soldiers 
entertained  their  guests  as  follows.  *  As  soon  as 
the  libations  had  been  poured  out  and  the  paean 
sung,  two  Thracians  rose  up  and  danced  in  full 
armour  to  the  sound  of  a  pipe  ;  they  bounded 
into  the  air  with  the  utmost  agility  brandishing 
their  swords,  till  at  last  one  struck  the  other  in 
such  a  manner  that  every  one  thought  he  had 
killed  him.  He  then  despoiled  the  vanquished 
of  his  arms  and  went  out  singing  a  triumphal  lay 
(the  "  Sitalces "),  while  other  Thracians  came 
forward  and  carried  off  the  man  as  if  he  had  been 
dead,  though  indeed  he  had  suffered  no  hurt. 
Afterwards  some  ^nians  and  men  of  Magnesia 
stood  up,  and  danced  what  they  called  the 
Carpaean  dance,  in  heavy  armour.  The  order  of 
the   dance  is  as  follows.     One  man  having  laid 


EFFECT   OF   THESE   ON   THE  ARTS  75 

aside  his  arms  feigns  to  be  sowing  a  field  and 
to  drive  along  a  yoke  of  oxen,  frequently  turning 
to  look  back  as  if  he  were  afraid.  A  robber  then 
approaches,  and  the  husbandman,  when  he  per- 
ceives him,  snatches  up  his  arms,  dashes  to  meet 
him,  and  fights  with  him  in  defence  of  his  yoke  of 
oxen,  all  these  movements  being  performed  by  the 
men  while  keeping  time  to  the  music  of  the  pipe. 
At  last,  however,  the  robber,  binding  the  other 
man,  leads  him  off  with  his  oxen.'^  Sometimes, 
Xenophon  adds,  the  dance  ends  differently  ;  the 
ploughman  binds  the  robber,  and  then,  having 
fastened  him  to  his  oxen,  drives  him  off  with  his 
hands  tied  behind  him. 

§  29.   Effect  of  the  mimic  Dances  upon  Sculpture  and 
Painting. 

Lifelike  impersonations  of  this  kind,  moulded  to 
a  form  of  art  by  the  element  of  measure  and 
rhythm,  must  have  proved  an  inexhaustible  source 
of  suggestion  to  the  graphic  and  plastic  artists, 
who  would  have  before  them  examples  of  the 
conveyance  of  ideas  in  a  vivid  and  forcible  manner 
by  means  of  bodily  gesture  and  facial  expression 
alone,  without  the  intervention  of  the  voice.  It 
was  essential  to  accomplishment  in  this  kind  of 
dancing,  that  the  idea  to  be  impressed  on  the 
spectator  should  be  read  in  every  part  of  the  form 
and  not  in  a  single  feature  or  limb.^  The  dancer, 
in  Lucian's  view,  *  must  study  clearness  so  that  he 
may  make  everything  plain  without  an  interpreter, 
and  as  the  Pythian  Oracle  said,  the  spectator  of  a 

'^Anabasis J  vi.  i.  '^Xenophon,  Symposium^  ii.  i6. 


76  THE  FESTIVAL 

dance  should  understand  a  mute  and  hear  one 
that  does  not  speak.'  ^ 

§  30.   Evolution  of  the  Drama  from  the  mimic  Dance. 

More  elaborate  forms  of  the  mimic  dance  were 
also  introduced  at  the  religious  festivals  of  the 
Greeks,  where  they  took  the  character  of  sacred 
pantomimes  displaying  the  persons  and  the 
adventures  of  the  deities  celebrated  in  the  locality. 
The  most  important  of  these  pantomimes  in  its 
artistic  results  was  that  connected  with  the  festivals 
of  the  wine-god  Dionysus,  wherein  were  repre- 
sented dances  of  satyrs  his  woodland  comrades, 
and  where  would  appear  also  at  times  the  god 
himself,  or  at  any  rate  a  messenger  from  him  who 
would  recount  and  re-enact  his  adventures.  This 
was  originally  a  mere  incident  in  a  scene  of 
village  jollity  at  vintage  time,  but,  strangely 
enough,  was  developed  in  after  days  to  that 
sustained  and  stately  form  of  art  the  Tragic 
Drama.  Nothing  could  appear  more  unlike  a 
haunt  of  rustic  merrymakers  than  the  Athenian 
Theatre,  when  assembled  Greece  saw 

'  Gorgeous  tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line. 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine ; ' 

and  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  the  Dionysiac  Revel 
could  be  turned  in  so  short  a  space  of  time  to  a 
performance  so  solemn  and  elevated,  in  which 
only  a  few  accidental  features  remained  to  tell  of 
its  origin  in  the  masque  of  satyrs.     The  difficulty 

"^  De  Saltatione^  §  62. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  DRAMA  77 

is  explained  when  we  understand  the  prevalence 
of  the  mimic  dance  or  pantomime  in  many  dif- 
ferent forms  throughout  Greece.  The  themes  of 
these  were  not  necessarily  Dionysiac,  but  embraced 
various  mythological  stories  and  brought  upon  the 
rustic  stage  both  divine  and  heroic  personages. 
Lucian  says  that  the  whole  range  of  ancient 
legend  *  from  Chaos  to  Cleopatra  of  Egypt  *  ^  was 
pressed  into  the  service  of  the  dancers,  and  we 
have  a  long  list  of  dramatic  dances  performed  in 
early  times,  as  for  example,  the  birth  of  Zeus  in 
Crete,  the  marriage  of  Zeus  and  Hera  at  Argos, 
the  battle  of  Apollo  and  the  Python  at  Delphi. 
At  Tanagra  there  was  represented  Hermes 
Kriophoros,  Apollo  with  the  Muses  in  the  Theban 
Daphnephoria,  at  Sicyon  the  hero  Adrastus  and 
his  adventures.  Had  tragedy  been  directly  evolved 
from  any  of  these  more  serious  displays  there 
would  have  been  nothing  surprising,  but  their 
influence  seems  to  have  been  only  indirect.  We 
may  conjecture  however  that  it  was  the  familiarity 
of  the  people  with  mimic  dances  and  shows  of  a 
solemn  kind,  that  made  it  possible  for  Epigenes  of 
Sicyon  and  Thespis  of  Athens  to  graft  these  on  to 
the  Dionysiac  fetes  in  Attica,  and  so  gradually  to 
change  the  whole  character  of  the  representation. 
That  this  was  not  done  without  some  popular 
opposition  we  know  from  the  cry  that  was  raised 
against  these  innovators — 'This  has  nothing  to 
do  with  Dionysus  *  (ovSev  irpo^  rov  Aiovva-ov)? 

^  De  Saltatione,  §37. 

2  See  Bergk,  Griechische  Literaturgeschichte,  Vol.  III.  with  passages 
there  referred  to.     Esp.  p.  268. 


^  THE   FESTIVAL 

§  31.  Slight  influence  of  the  Drama  on  Sculpture. 

The  drama  is  itself  an  art  of  form  and  as  such 
claims  mention  in  this  place ;  it  stood  however  by 
itself  and  had  little  influence  on  the  other  arts. 
Neither  the  sculptor  nor  the  painter  seems  to  have 
learned  much  from  this  source,  the  reason  being, 
no  doubt,  that  the  adjuncts  of  the  drama,  the 
robes,  the  masks,  the  buskins,  were  elaborate  and 
cumbersome,  and  militated  against  anything  like 
pure  beauty  of  form.  Lucian,  in  fact,  when  extol- 
ling the  dance  as  a  form  of  art,  criticises  the  stage 
performances  from  this  very  point  of  view.  In 
language  which  may  be  half  banter,  he  ridicules 
the  gigantic  figures  padded  out  in  front  and 
propped  up  on  lofty  buskins,  that  roared  forth 
their  verses  through  masks  of  which  the  open 
mouths  seemed  ready  to  swallow  the  audience !  ^ 
Probably  the  less  developed  mimic  performances 
had  far  more  effect  upon  the  progress  of  the 
plastic  art.  The  introduction  upon  the  country 
stage  of  the  personages  of  mythology  duly  '  made 
up'  in  mien  and  vesture  and  attribute,  familiarized 
the  people  with  representations,  which  they  were 
afterwards  to  behold  carried  up  into  an  altogether 
higher  region  of  beauty  and  of  expression  in  the 
productions  of  the  sculptor's  art.  In  this  way, 
then,  the  social  customs  and  common  religious 
rites  of  the  ancient  people  all  *  made  for  art  * 
supplying  the  indispensable  stimulus  to  feeling 
without  which  there  would  be  no  impulse  to 
artistic   expression,  educating  the  artist's  eye  by 

*  De  SaUatione^  §  27. 


EARLY  GREEK  SCULPTURE  ^9 

the  display  of  fair  forms  amid  scenes  of  brightness 
and  exclLament,  setting  sculptor,  painter  and  archi- 
tect at  work  on  abundant  and  congenial  tasks. 

§  32.  Early  Sculpture  in  its  relation  to  the 
Festival. 

Nor  were  the  artists  slow  to  take  advantage  of 
their  opportunities.  From  the  midst  of  the  sacred 
groves  or  from  the  bare  rock  of  the  citadels, 
wherever  the  sons  of  Hellas  had  gathered  together 
in  town  or  village,  there  arose  noble  buildings 
adorned  or  surrounded  by  stately  sculptured 
forms.  These  temples,  so  fair  and  massive,  we 
have  already  come  to  know  as  the  crystallization 
in  permanent  form  of  the  festal  structure  (§  21), 
and  we  have  noted  how  the  decorative  arts  soon 
came  to  lend  their  aid  in  covering  the  bones  of 
the  edifice  with  a  veil  of  significant  and  beautiful 
devices  (§§  14,  15).  It  is  true  that  the  earliest 
Greek  temples  were  comparatively  bare  of  sculp- 
ture, but  the  place  of  this  was  doubtless  supplied 
by  temporary  decoration  upon  festal  occasions. 
When  sculpture  and  painting  came  to  be  added 
as  permanent  elements  in  the  effect  of  the  whole, 
they  were  at  first  naive  and  simple  enough.  The 
people  were  greedy  for  stories  about  local  gods 
and  heroes,  and  loved  to  see  these  brought  before 
their  eyes  either  as  part  of  a  pageant  or  play,  or 
in  the  form  of  a  substantial  artistic  show.  Child- 
like in  the  extreme  were  the  early  efforts  of  the 
plastic  art,  when  the  temple-image  was  nothing 
more  than  a  large  wooden  doll  dressed  in  real 
clothes  and   a  wig,  and  the  decorative  frieze  or 


8o  THE   FESTIVAL 

slab  represented  scenes  of  sacred  legend  with 
figures  of  the  quaintest  mien  and  habiliments. 
To  the  popular  heart  however  both  statue  and 
decorative  relief  were  very  dear.  The  crude 
realism  of  the  one,  the  animated,  even  grotesque, 
gestures  of  the  actors  in  the  other,  were  easily 
understood  and  appreciated,  and  so  well  were 
they  loved  that,  partly  on  artistic  partly  on 
religious  grounds,  they  remained  in  honour 
throughout  the  whole  period  of  classical  art 
history.  Pausanias,  though  he  wrote  in  the 
second  century  of  our  era  and  was  familiar 
with  all  the  greatest  achievements  of  Hellenic 
art,  declares  that  in  spite  of  their  strange  ungain- 
liness  these  earliest  productions  had  in  them 
*  something  that  was  divine.'  ^ 

§  33.  Mature  Sculpture  also  in  Greece  the  expression 
of  popular  ideals. 

Widely  different  from  these  in  aspect  and  idea 
are  the  standard  examples  of  Greek  sculpture  in 
its  maturity,  such  as  we  possess  in  the  fragments 
from  the  Parthenon.  Monumental  dignity  even 
austerity  of  aspect  marks  these  colossal  shapes,  in 
which  we  read  the  deepest  thoughts  of  the  people 
about  man  and  about  divinity,  and  the  contrast 
between  these  and  the  naYve  representations  of 
the  infancy  of  the  art  is  much  the  same  as  that 
between  the  Attic  drama  in  the  hands  of  an 
iEschylus,  and  the  primitive  Dionysiac  revel  out 
of  which  it  was  evolved.  There  is  no  need  to 
trace  here  the  historical  development  of  sculpture 

'^  DescHptio  GrcecicBy  ii.  4,  5. 


THE   IDEA  OF    HELLENIC  ART  8i 

from  its  beginnings  to  its  maturity,  and  we  may 
pass  on  now  to  note  that  in  their  own  more  lofty 
style  these  works  of  the  maturity  of  the  art  are 
just  as  much  the  expression  of  the  mind  of  the 
people,  just  as  truly  the  outcome  of  the  common 
emotional  life  concentrated  in  the  festival,  as  were 
the  temporary  embroidered  hangings,  or  the  doll- 
idol  to  which  the  multitude  presented  a  new  gown 
at  the  periodical  celebration. 

§  34.  Fundamental  characteristics  of  Hellenic  Art. 

If  it  be  asked  what  are  the  qualities  most 
apparent  in  the  best  work  of  the  Greeks,  the 
answer  will  be — perfection  in  external  form, 
combined  with  an  indescribable  inner  repose  and 
dignity.  Now  both  these  qualities  depend  upon 
the  fact  that  the  artist  was  in  all  cases  working 
towards  a  very  clearly  realized  conception  of  his 
themes.  These  were  always  of  general  interest, 
and  had  been  constituted  as  substantial  objects  of 
thought  long  before  he  took  them  in  hand.  His 
selection  of  the  plastic  form  as  his  vehicle  of 
artistic  expression  was  not  accidental  (see  §  62) 
but  followed  naturally  from  his  desire  to  give  the 
utmost  definiteness  of  shape  to  these  distinctly 
formed  conceptions.  '  Inner  repose  and  dignity  * 
characterize  his  productions,  because  they  are  the 
work  of  a  Greek  endowed  with  all  the  intellectual 
and  moral  equipment  of  his  race  ;  their  perfection 
of  form  follows  therefrom  as  a  necessary  artistic 
corollary. 


83  THE  FESTIVAL 

§  35.  The  underlsnlng  idea  of  Greek  Sculpture— Hellas 
in  opposition  to  the  non-Hellenic. 

Our  task  here  is  first  to  draw  out  these  intel- 
lectual and  ethical  elements  which  composed,  as 
it  were,  a  grand  underlying  idea  in  Greek  sculpture 
and  made  it  the  expression  of  the  national  mind  ; 
and  next  to  show  how  this  idea  was  wrought  out 
in  detail.  It  may  at  the  outset  surprise  some 
readers  to  hear  of  a  *  grand  underlying  idea '  in 
Greek  sculpture.  Such  ideas  they  would  recognize 
at  once  in  medieval  art,  where  the  sublime  themes 
of  Judgment  and  Bliss  and  Condemnation,  the 
drama  of  Redemption,  the  sacred  history  of  the 
whole  Creation,  are  unfolded  in  moving  scenes 
before  the  spectator.  But  in  Greek  art,  they 
would  say — apart  of  course  from  questions  of 
sculpturesque  beauty — what  is  there  ?  Single 
figures  for  the  most  part,  either  at  rest  or  fighting, 
acting  again  and  again  the  well-worn  roles  of 
heroes  in  contest  with  Centaurs  or  Amazons,  or 
else  majestically  posed  or  enthroned  with  nothing 
in  the  world  to  do  or  care  about !  Where,  it  may 
be  asked,  do  we  find  in  Greek  art  the  manifesta- 
tion of  any  great  common  idea,  the  movement  of 
a  living  mass  with  one  heart  and  one  passion  ? 
It  is  true  that  the  Greeks,  as  sculptors  and  lovers 
of  clear-cut  definite  form,  preferred  to  concentrate 
what  they  desired  to  express  in  one  or  two  figures, 
rather  than  to  diffuse  the  interest  of  their  theme 
over  a  vast  space  of  wall  or  roof,  as  was  the 
manner  of  the  medieval  painter.  But  a  theme 
the  Greeks  had,  and  a  noble  one — as  noble  in  its 


HELLAS  AGAINST  THE   NON-HELLENIC     83 

way  as  that  which  filled  his  mind  who  sketched 
the  Prophets  and  Sybils  on  the  vault  of  the 
Sistine.  For  this  theme  was  Hellas  ;  Hellas  as  a 
whole  and  all  that  it  meant  to  the  Greeks  and  to 
the  world ;  Hellas  as  the  realm  of  light  and 
order,  first  won,  then  rescued  and  guarded,  from 
the  powers  of  darkness  and  disorder  that  sur- 
rounded it  on  every  side.  To  understand  this  is 
to  receive  quite  a  new  view  of  these  familiar 
contending  heroes  and  placid  rulers  of  earth  and 
sky.  The  first  were  creating  and  defending  a 
social  order  that  alone  made  light  and  reason  and 
beauty  possible  to  the  world,  the  others  in  their 
serenity  represented  the  triumph  of  the  Hellenic 
ideal  when  the  conflict  was  over  and  victory 
secure.  If  the  same  scenes,  the  same  personages, 
are  portrayed  over  and  over  again  with  what  may 
at  first  seem  wearisome  iteration,  it  is  because  the 
great  cause  they  represent  is  for  ever  present  to 
the  mind  of  both  artist  and  public.  The  primary 
conception  of  Greek  as  opposed  to  barbarian, 
though  it  did  not  exist  in  Homer's  day,  was 
recognized  by  Thucydides  as  a  result  of  the 
national  development,  and  appears  in  all  its 
strength  in  the  writings  of  Attic  philosophers  and 
orators,  and  this  conception — Hellas  against  the 
non-Hellenic — formed  the  fundamental  theme  of 
Greek  monumental  art. 

§36.  'Hellas'  in  the  celestial,  the  legendary,  the 
historical  spheres. 

There  was,  to  begin  with,  a  '  Hellas '  in  heaven, 
where  the  Olympian  regime  of  light  and  order  had 


84  THE   FESTIVAL 

been  founded  on  the  ruin  of  the  older  and  darker 
Saturnian  powers,  and  afterwards  had  to  be 
defended  and  rescued  from  the  lawless  attacks  of 
the  Titans  and  Giants,  born  of  the  ancient  brood. 
On  earth  in  the  legendary  days,  so  it  was  believed, 
the  heroes  Heracles,  Theseus,  Bellerophon,  issue  of 
the  gods,  had  slowly  evolved  a  settled  civic  life 
from  the  chaos  of  a  world  the  prey  of  monsters 
and  robbers.  To  hold  the  conquest  thus  won,  they 
and  their  descendants  had  to  stand  together  in 
battle  against  successive  assaults  of  the  non- 
Hellenic  powers  of  darkness  and  disorder.  The 
Amazons  were  anti-social,  opposed  to  family  life, 
and  Theseus  beat  them  back  from  the  Attica  he 
had  won  and  ruled.  The  Centaurs  are  personifica- 
tions of  mountain  streams,  the  constant  foes  of  the 
cultivator  of  the  plain  at  the  foot  of  hills  seamed 
with  watercourses.  Like  the  streams  in  spate, 
down  come  the  Centaurs  from  their  caves  and 
rocks  on  the  peaceful  haunts  of  men,  striking  great 
blows  with  stocks  and  stones,  and  must  be  met  and 
vanquished  by  the  Lapith  sword.  Then,  later,  the 
sons  of  the  heroes  join  in  conflict  against  the  ever- 
watchful  Oriental  foemen  of  the  Hellenic  name  in 
the  war  before  Troy  ;  again,  and  now  in  the  full 
light  of  history,  the  contest  is  renewed  upon 
Grecian  soil  against  the  embattled  might  of  the 
East  at  Marathon  and  at  Plataea  ;  a  memory  of 
the  bygone  struggles  still  stirs  the  army  of  revenge 
that  marches  with  Alexander  of  Macedon  against 
the  now  broken  Oriental  powers.  And  if  this  was 
the  final  victory  of  Greek  light  and  reason  and 
beauty  over  the  dark  and  hostile  East,  other  foes 


THE   CONFLICT   IN   ART  85 

from  another  point  were  at  hand  to  make  Hellas 
conscious  of  herself  and  all  she  had  to  defend. 
About  280  B.C.  a  swarm  of  barbarian  Gauls  burst 
into  Northern  Greece,  overran  Macedonia  and 
Thessaly,  turned  the  defence  of  Thermopylae  and 
menaced  the  seats  of  Hellenic  civilization  in  the 
South.  But  again,  as  at  Marathon,  the  gods 
descended  to  protect  their  chosen  home,  and  divine 
hands,  it  was  rumoured,  hurled  back  the  assailants 
from  the  Delphic  shrine.  Finally,  a  little  later, 
successive  Gallic  hordes  threaten  the  Greek  cities 
in  Asia  Minor,  and  Attalus  and  Eumenes  of  Per- 
gamon  stand  forth  in  defence  of  Hellenic  civilization 
and  break  the  power  of  the  barbarians. 

§37.  Ideal  representation  in  Art  of  the  contests  of 
Hellas  against  the  non-Hellenic. 

To  the  Greek,  who  was  as  familiar  with  his  gods 
as  with  his  fellow-citizens,  these  struggles,  poetical, 
legendary,  historical,  were  all  the  same.  In  his 
idealizing  vein  he  would  make  the  fight  of  Zeus 
against  the  Giants  just  as  real  as  the  battle  of 
Eumenes  against  the  Gauls,  and  Achilles  and 
Alexander  of  Macedon  were  to  him  twin  heroes  in 
their  work  and  in  their  glory.  All  were  incidents 
in  the  eternal  and  ever-renewed  contest  of  light  and 
darkness,  order  and  violence,  and  the  incidents  of 
the  fights  against  the  Centaurs  and  Amazons  are 
used  to  cover  references  to  the  historical  struggle  of 
Hellas  against  Persia.  This  deep  underlying  idea 
is  for  ever  finding  expression  in  some  one  or  other 
of  these  forms.  The  victory  over  Persia  inspired 
indirectly  all  the  monumental  works  of  the  culmi- 


86  THE   FESTIVAL 

nating  period  of  Greek  sculpture,  yet  we  have  to 
look  closely  to  find  any  direct  historical  represen- 
tations of  it  in  the  arts  of  form.  There  was  indeed 
a  grand  wall-picture  in  the  Stoa  Poikild  at  Athens 
representing  the  battle  of  Marathon,  painted  by 
Micon  and  Panaenus  a  generation  after  the  event ; 
but  in  sculpture,  save  perhaps  in  the  frieze  of  the 
temple  of  Nik6  Apteros  at  Athens,  the  reference  is 
always  indirect,  through  some  contest  of  Greeks 
and  Trojans  (as  on  the  temple  at  ^gina)  or  of 
heroes  against  Centaurs  and  Amazons  (as  on  the 
Parthenon,  the  temple  of  Zeus  at  Olympia  and 
many  a  great  shrine  besides).  The  well-known 
figure  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere  has  been  supposed 
to  portray  the  god  in  the  act  of  issuing  forth  from 
Delphi  to  defend  in  person  his  hallowed  shrine 
against  the  Gauls.  Attalus  of  Pergamon  celebrates 
his  victory  by  more  or  less  matter-of-fact  figures  of 
contending  and  dying  barbarians,  copies  of  which 
have  come  down  to  us,  but  Eumenes  his  successor 
goes  back  to  the  old  ideal  style,  and  the  whole  grand 
series  of  monumental  compositions,  the  glory  of 
Hellenic  art,  closes  with  the  splendid  frieze  from 
Pergamon  (in  the  Berlin  Museum),  perhaps  the 
most  grandiloquent  utterance  of  all  sculpture,  in 
which  the  monarch  records  his  defeat  of  the  Gauls 
under  the  figure  of  the  old  traditional  overthrow  of 
the  invading  Giants  by  the  Olympian  powers. 

§  38.  Concentration  of  the  interest  of  these  contests  in 
typical  Protagonists. 

In  this  way  the  Greeks,  through  these  recognized 
subjects  or  *  stock  themes'  of  sculpture,  symbolized 


TYPES   IN    HELLENIC   ART  ^7 

a  contest  of  eternal  principles,  that  was  as  vital  to 
them  as  the  conceptions  of  medieval  theology  to 
the  frescoists  of  Italy. 

True  to  the  feeling  for  concentration  already 
mentioned,  and  true  also,  as  we  shall  see,  to  the 
genius  of  the  sculptor's  art,  they  personify  these 
contending  principles  in  a  few  individual  protagon- 
ists. The  battle  is  always  going  on  between  chosen 
individuals,  a  Hellene  or  Hellenic  god  or  hero 
against  Trojan  or  Giant  or  Centaur.  The  general 
interest  is  embodied  in  the  single  personage,  who 
thereupon  becomes  not  a  mere  unit,  but  a  bearer  of 
the  fortunes  of  his  people,  the  representative  of  a 
class,  or  in  a  single  word,  a  Type. 

§39.  The  Types  peopling  the  Hellenic  world. 

After  the  clear  conception  of  the  Hellenic  world 
as  a  whole  and  its  ideal  representation  in  the  forms 
just  described,  come  the  clear  conception  and  the 
perfect  plastic  delineation  of  the  various  typical 
personages  who  peopled  that  world.  This  is  not 
the  place  to  attempt  any  enumeration  of  these 
typical  personages,  who  meet  us  again  and  again  in 
the  great  friezes  and  sculptured  groups.  The 
significant  fact  is  that  such  enumeration  should 
seem  even  possible.  It  must  be  admitted  that  in 
the  earlier  as  well  as  in  the  later  phases  of  Hellenic 
art  there  is  a  freedom  in  the  choice  of  subjects 
that  was  not  exercised  by  the  sculptor  during  the 
culminating  period.  If  we  take  only  this  central 
period  of  perfect  maturity,  extending  from  the  time 
of  Pericles  to  that  of  the  immediate  successors  of 
Alexander,  it  would  be  possible  to  draw  up  a  fairly 


as  THE  FESTIVAL 

complete  list  of  all  the  themes  and  all  the  person- 
ages with  which  the  artist  cared  to  busy  himself. 
It  is  well  understood  that  the  Greeks  possessed  a 
strong  vein  of  aristocratic  exclusiveness,  and  only- 
deigned  to  give  their  attention  to  certain  phases  of 
human  life.  Man,  as  man,  they  would  not  recognize, 
but  only  man  in  special  aspects  and  relations  which 
brought  him  within  the  charmed  Hellenic  circle. 
Man  as  public  servant  of  the  state,  as  warrior,  as 
trained  athlete,  as  votary  of  intellectual  culture, 
they  would  recognize  and  portray,  but  no  room 
was  found  in  the  circle  for  man  as  mechanic 
or  as  servant,  for  such  persons  were  not  in  the 
true  sense  citizens,  and  could  not  enter  into  the 
life  of  Hellas. 

§  40.  The  Olympian  Pantheon. 

Over  the  phases  of  human  life  thus  exalted  to 
honour  there  presided  special  guardian  deities  and 
heroes.  Some  were  grave  and  business-like,  such  as 
Zeus,  Athene,  Hestia,  exercising  supervision  over 
politics  and  counsel  and  household  economy  and  the 
domestic  hearth.  Athene  and  Ares  were  deities 
of  noble  and  of  boisterous  war.  The  gymnast 
invoked  Hermes,  Apollo  was  ever  ready  to  lend 
countenance  to  the  dance  and  song.  The  softer 
emotions  never  rose  in  the  heart  without  the 
prompting  of  Aphrodite,  while  Hera  guarded  the 
marriage-couch.  Nature  had  also  her  gods,  who 
would  meet  a  man  when  he  went  out  into  the 
woods  alone,  or  surrendered  his  soul  to  the  mys- 
terious influence  of  the  fields  and  hills.  Dionysus 
and  his  train  incorporated  the  teeming  fruitfulness 


GODS   AND   DEMIGODS  89 

of  the  world,  and  laid  the  spell  of  divine  power 
upon  the  maddening  wine ; 

*The  Sileni,  and  Sylvans,  and  Fauns, 
And  the  nymphs  of  the  woods  and  waves ' 

filled  with  life  all  desert  places  of  the  earth.  Then, 
less  individualized,  but  of  great  social  importance, 
were  certain  abstract  beings  who  had  in  charge 
constantly  recurring  situations  of  life,  the  best 
known  being  Eros  (love)  and  Nike  (victory). 
Lastly,  some  of  the  higher  animals,  notably  the 
horse  and  the  lion,  received,  as  it  were,  the  rights 
of  citizenship,  and  became  denizens  of  this 
jealously  guarded  Hellenic  world. 

It  was  well  said  by  Hegel,  that  the  Greeks 
never  did  anything  greater  than  the  creation  of 
the  Olympian  Pantheon,  and,  we  may  add,  the 
creation  of  all  these  other  varied  types  of  which  the 
conception  was  so  clear  and  true.  Of  the  manner 
in  which  these  were  first  formed  and  then  re- 
presented in  art,  Ottfried  MUller  has  written  well 
in  a  passage  revealing  his  intimate  sympathy  with 
the  working  of  the  Hellenic  mind.  '  The  Greeks,' 
he  says,  *  were  somehow  so  fortunate  that  long 
before  art  had  arrived  at  external  manifestation 
the  genius  of  the  people  had  prepared  the  way  for 
the  artist,  and  formed  beforehand  the  whole  world 
of  art.  The  mystical  element,  so  essential  to 
religion,  in  which  we  feel  the  divine  existence  as 
something  infinite  and  absolutely  different  from 
humanity,  although  never  completely  banished 
(a  thing  not  possible  among  a  religious  people) 
was  however  thrust  into  the  background  especially 


90  THE  FESTIVAL 

by  poetry,  which  followed  the  path  marked  out  for 
it,  fashioning  everything  more  and  more  after  the 
analogy  of  human  life.  .  .  .  When  sculpture,  on 
its  part,  had  improved  so  far  as  to  seize  the 
external  forms  of  life  in  their  truth  and  fulness  of 
significance,  there  was  nothing  more  required  than 
to  express  those  already  individualized  ideas  in 
corresponding  grandiose  forms.  ...  If  in  these 
creations  the  established  idea  of  the  god  as  fixed 
in  literature  and  popular  belief,  and  also  the 
exquisite  sense  of  the  Greeks  for  form,  felt  them- 
selves completely  satisfied,  normal  images  resulted, 
to  which  succeeding  artists  adhered  with  lively 
freedom  .  .  .  and  there  arose  images  of  gods  and 
heroes,  which  possessed  not  less  internal  truth 
and  stability,  than  if  the  personages  themselves 
had  sat  for  their  portraits.'  ^ 

§  41.   The  Characterization  in  Sculpture  of  the 
Types. 

The  formation  and  the  clear  comprehension  of 
the  type  was  the  work  of  Hellenic  intelligence  ; 
its  characterization  in  the  most  telling  outward 
form  was  left  to  the  artist,  and  we  may  observe 
of  his  achievement  that  he  always  displayed  the 
essential  idea  of  the  type  in  the  whole  mien  and 
countenance  of  his  figure  and  not  merely  in 
attributes  or  accidents.  In  the  childish  period 
of  the  beginnings  of  sculpture  noticed  above 
(§  32),  the  different  gods  and  heroes  were  charac- 
terized by  their  familiar  attributes,  or  their  names 
were  written  beside  them  on  the  ground  of  the 
^  Ancient  Art  and  its  Remains,  Eng.  Trans.  §  347. 


CHARACTERIZATION    OF   THE   TYPES       91 

relief.  In  the  maturity  of  the  art  the  use  of  these 
aids  to  characterization  was  controlled  by  sound 
artistic  tact.  They  are  of  course  of  value  in  giving 
richness  of  detail  in  a  composition,  and  no  sculptor 
could  afford  entirely  to  abandon  their  use.  A 
distinction  was  however  made  between  accidental 
attributes — often  connected  with  the  particular 
personage  for  no  intelligible  reason — and  essential 
attributes  where  the  connection  is  at  once  apparent. 
For  example  the  eagle,  lordly  of  aspect,  with  its 
home  in  the  upper  air,  at  once  takes  its  place  as  a 
fitting  companion  for  the  king  of  gods  and  men. 
Nike  naturally  attends  on  the  victorious  Athene. 
The  goddess  of  love  and  beauty  holds  delicately 
a  flower  in  her  finger-tips.  Apollo  carries  the 
bow  or  lyre  according  to  the  particular  side  of 
his  character  that  is  to  be  emphasized.  Such 
attributes  are  always  in  place,  but  the  Greek 
sculptor  never  placed  too  much  reliance  on  them. 
The  winsome  grace  of  Aphrodite,  the  splendour 
and  swiftness  of  Apollo,  were  displayed  in  the 
whole  pose  and  action  of  the  forms.  The  softly 
effeminate  lineaments  of  Dionysus  needed  no 
crown  of  vine-leaves  for  their  identification.  The 
Zeus  of  Pheidias  at  Olympia  was  not  known  by 
sceptre  and  olive  crown,  but  by  the  majesty  that 
sat  upon  his  brow,  and  revealed  to  the  awe-struck 
worshipper  *  the  guardian  deity  of  a  united 
Hellas  .  .  .  the  giver  of  life  and  breath  and 
all  good  things,  the  common  father  and  saviour 
and  protector  of  men.'  ^ 

^  Dion  Chrysostom,  Orat.  74,  p.  412. 


92  THE   FESTIVAL 

§  42.  Maintenance  of  the  essential  character  of  the 
Types  through  variations. 

Such  were  the  *  normal  images '  of  the  person- 
ages of  the  Hellenic  world  of  which  Ottfried 
MUller  writes,  and  it  must  now  be  observed  that 
when  these  types  were  once  satisfactorily  formed, 
subsequent  artists  adhered  to  them,  as  he  phrases 
it,  '  with  lively  freedom.'  This  side  of  the  matter 
is  as  important  as  the  one  we  have  been 
considering.  That  there  should  be  a  certain 
flexibility  about  the  character  of  the  particular 
personage  whose  normal  image  was  thus  fixed,  is 
as  essential  as  it  is  that  the  character  should  be 
substantially  based  on  reason.  Had  it  admitted 
of  no  variation  and  the  type  been  frozen  in 
unyielding  lines,  a  stony  hardness  would  have 
seized  and  stiffened  the  beautiful  body  of  Hellenic 
art,  and  Greek  gods  and  goddesses  have  become 
as  stereotyped  and  lifeless  as  the  beast-headed 
divinities  of  Egypt.  The  Greeks  were  saved  from 
this  danger  because  the  conceptions  formed  in  the 
popular  mind,  on  which  the  sculptured  types  were 
based,  admitted  of  variation,  in  different  localities 
and  epochs,  or  under  the  influence  of  successive 
poets  and  moralists.  Athene,  one  of  the  simplest 
as  well  as  perhaps  the  noblest  of  all  these 
creations  of  the  national  imagination,  appeared  in 
more  than  one  aspect.  Goddess  at  one  time  of 
righteous  war,  at  another  she  appeared  as  patroness 
of  all  the  household  arts  of  her  own  sex,  and 
blessed  the  spindle  as  well  as  the  spear.  Apollo 
in  like  manner  could  lay  aside  his  bow  and  grasp 


FLEXIBILITY  OF  THE  REPRESENTATIONS    93 

the  lyre.  Zeus  wore  a  benign  as  well  as  a 
threatening  front.  The  varying  conception  of 
Aphrodite — one  of  the  subtlest  of  all — passed 
through  many  phases  celestial  and  earthly,  and 
gave  occasion  for  the  finest  characterization.  Yet 
with  all  this  variety  and  play  of  life  around  the 
characters,  each  remained  at  heart  a  single  being. 
Athene  never  ceased  to  be  the  stainless  vigilant 
soul,  dwelling  like  a  star  apart  but  quick  to  dart 
her  influence  on  every  noble  earthly  thing. 
Apollo  always  preserves  a  certain  scornful  aristo- 
cratic purism,  whether  he  is  dealing  death  by  his 
shafts,  setting  the  Muses  to  dance  to  his  lyre,  or 
pursuing  fair  maids  along  the  Peneus.  The 
majesty  of  Zeus  alters  no  more  than  does  the 
charm  of  Aphrodite.  When  this  goddess  dons 
her  raiment — as  in  the  beautiful  relief  on  the  base 
of  the  Barberini  candelabrum  in  the  Vatican — a 
fluttering  end  of  drapery  betrays  the  heart  within 
that  dances  lightly  to  the  music  of  love.  Naked, 
in  a  form  of  noble  dignity  or  of  softly  alluring 
grace,  she  yet  wears  as  her  vesture  an  unearthly 
beauty  that  daunts  the  profane.  On  a  face 
that  may  vary  from  the  austere  simplicity  of 
the  Venus  of  Milo  to  the  sympathetic  loveliness 
of  the  small  head  found  at  Olympia,  there 
is  always  that  melting,  softly-swimming  eye 
that  Lucian  praises,^  the  effect  of  which  is  due 
to  a  certain  slight  elevation  of  the  inner  corner 
of  the  lower  eyelid — an  unfailing  mark  of  the 
Aphrodite  type. 

^  Imagines^  §  6. 


94  THE  FESTIVAL 

§  43.  Flexibility  of  the  Types  in  the  hands 
of  the  Sculptors. 

The  Greek  sculptors  took  full  advantage  of  the 
opportunities  thus  offered,  and,  within  limits  that 
they  knew  well  how  to  recognize,  they  allowed 
themselves  to  make  variations  of  their  own  on 
the  popular  types.  Thus  Praxiteles,  in  whom  the 
intellectual  refinement  of  Hellenic  art  found  its 
best  exponent,  took  up  the  Satyr  type  and  pro- 
duced the  most  delicate  modifications  of  the 
single  well-understood  idea.  His  ideal  of  Eros, 
Love,  was  the  subtle  one  of  a  slender  youth  in 
whom  incipient  maturity  was  as  yet  only  a  dis- 
turbing dream — an  ideal  later  on  to  be  vulgarized 
into  the  chubby  Cupid  of  the  decadence  of  art. 
His  elder  contemporary  Scopas  divided  the  single 
idea  of  Love,  and  in  a  group  of  three  personified 
the  passion  in  a  triple  aspect.  He  let  his 
imagination  brood  over  the  sea  and  peopled  its 
depths  with  naiads  and  tritons  in  whose  aspect 
he  strove  to  incorporate  the  wildness,  the  yearn- 
ing, the  melancholy  of  the  waves.  To  the  nymphs 
and  bacchanals,  that  before  his  time  had  been 
merely  graceful  female  shapes  without  special  char- 
acter, he  gave  individual  traits  that  corresponded 
to  their  diverse  haunts  and  diverse  occupations  in 
wood  and  field.  In  the  later  Alexandrine  age 
fresh  figures  appear  upon  the  scene,  and  new 
artistic  ideals,  though  a  little  frigid  and  artificial 
beside  the  old,  testify  to  the  long  survival  of  the 
creative  force  of  Greek  artistic  genius.  Though 
the  work  of  the  statuary  had  been,  as  we  have 


WINCKELMANN   ON  THE   IDEAL  95 

seen,  prepared  for  him  beforehand  by  the  popular 
intelligence,  yet  his  own  artistic  individuality 
could  still  have  its  field  of  exercise  :  the  artist 
was  still  an  originator  though  at  the  same  time 
the  mouthpiece  of  his  people. 

§  44.  Winckelmann  on  the  Classical  Ideal. 

It  was  the  omission  to  recognize  to  the  full  this 
element  in  Greek  sculpture  that  led  into  a  certain 
amount  of  error  the  justly  famous  Winckelmann. 
Winckelmann  was  the  first  of  the  moderns  who 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  remains  of  ancient  art  a 
combination  of  scholarly  feeling  and  enthusiasm, 
and  this  made  his  History  of  Ancient  Art,  pub- 
lished about  the  middle  of  the  1 8th  century,  the 
commencement  of  the  present  fruitful  era  of 
archaeology  and  art-criticism.^  A  man  of  distinct 
original  genius,  he  writes  about  his  theme  with  a 
certain  warmth  of  rapture  and  personal  self- 
surrender  to  the  ideal  of  Beauty,  which  as  he  tells 
us  'seemed  to  beckon'  to  him^  from  the  buried 
glories  of  Hellas.  About  this  beauty  he  theorizes 
to  the  effect  that  in  its  perfection  it  would  be  like 
pure  spring  water,  with  no  individual  character- 
istics, just  as  clear  water  has  no  taste.^  Accord- 
ing to  this,  beauty  would  be  something  general 
and  abstract,  only  belonging  to  an  object  without 
special  qualities  to  give  it  individuality,  and 
Winckelmann  thinks  that  the  Greeks  aimed  at 
securing  ideal  beauty  in  their  creations  by  making 
them   as  general  as  possible.      He  suggests  that 

^  English  Translation  by  Lodge,  Boston,  1880;  Lond.  1881. 
'  Lodge's  Translation,  I.  p.  302.  ^  Ibid,  p.  311. 


96  THE   FESTIVAL 

they  united  in  a  single  figure  characteristics 
belonging  to  different  individuals,  and  even  those 
belonging  to  the  two  sexes.  *  Those  wise  artists, 
the  ancients,  acted  as  a  skilful  gardener  does,  who 
ingrafts  different  shoots  of  excellent  sorts  upon 
the  same  stock.' ^  *  This  ideal  consists  in  the  in- 
corporation of  the  forms  of  prolonged  youth  in  the 
female  sex  with  the  masculine  forms  of  a  beautiful 
young  man.'2  The  view  that  ideal  beauty  de- 
pends on  selection,  combination,  and  the  omission 
of  individualizing  details  has  much  truth,  but 
Winckelmann  carries  it  too  far.  The  conditions 
of  beauty  in  the  plastic  art  will  form  the  theme  of 
our  study  in  succeeding  chapters,  but  it  may  be 
said  here,  that  one  of  these  conditions  undoubtedly 
is  the  absence  of  any  too  strongly  emphasized 
individual  features.  These  sculpturesque  types 
which  we  have  been  considering  are  as  we  have 
seen  on  the  whole  of  a  general  character,  and  so 
admitted  of  representation  under  the  form  of 
beauty.  It  would  be  a  great  mistake  however  to 
imagine  that  all  which  is  required  for  ideal  beauty 
is  this  process  of  generalizing.  Winckelmann  does 
not  appear  sufficiently  to  have  noted  the  fact  that 
if  the  generalizing  process  be  carried  too  far,  the 
work  becomes  abstract  and  void  of  interest, 
neither  beautiful  nor  ideal  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  words.  The  comparison  to  pure  water  is  mis- 
leading. Pure  water  is  doubtless  better  than  that 
which  has  hue  and  taste,  but  a  colourless  and 
insipid  beauty  is  not  beauty  at  all — it  is  simply 
uninteresting.      In  other  words  a  certain  amount 

^  Ibid.  p.  314.  ^Ibid.  p.  318. 


SUPREMACY  OF   GREEK   SCULPTURE       97 

of  individual  character  is  needed  to  give  life  and 
interest  to  a  representation,  and  this  amount  the 
Greek  artist  was  always  careful  to  retain.  One 
thing  specially  remarkable  in  his  work  is  his  tact 
in  stopping  the  generalizing  process  at  the  proper 
point,  and  never  allowing  the  representation  to 
become  abstract  and  unreal.  He  generalized,  that 
is  to  say,  until  he  secured  certain  well-marked 
types,  but  he  did  not  go  on  to  merge  all  these 
types  into  one.  Each  form  was  individual  in  its 
force  and  freshness  and  look  of  reality,  but  general 
in  that,  as  we  now  know,  it  was  not  a  mere  por- 
trait or  character-study  from  nature,  but  the  pre- 
sentment of  a  typical  personage  of  the  Hellenic 
world. 

§45.  True  meaning  of  'Ideal'  in  connection  with 
Greek  Art. 

If  we  choose  to  employ  the  word  *  ideal '  in 
relation  to  Greek  sculpture  it  must  be  in  the  sense 
already  indicated.  The  representations  we  have 
been  dealing  with  were  *  ideal '  because  they  were 
of  types  worked  out  in  the  intellectual  region  and 
constituted  in  thought,  as  ideas,  before  they  came 
under  the  cognizance  of  the  artist.  It  was  the 
underlying  basis  of  thought,  rather  than  this 
artificial  process  of  generalizing  suggested  by 
Winckelmann,  that  gave  an  ideal  stamp  to  the 
creations  of  Hellenic  art. 

§  46.  Supremacy  of  the  Greek  Sculptors. 

The  Greek  sculptors  were  as  supreme  in  their 
intellectual   strength    as    in    their    fine    sense   of 


98  THE   FESTIVAL 

formal  beauty.  All  other  artists  have  been 
to  them  in  this  respect  but  children.  Even 
about  the  efforts  of  the  greatest  men  of 
the  Italian  Renaissance  there  is  something 
tentative  and  vague,  when  we  compare  them 
with  the  majestic  achievements  of  the  Greeks. 
No  other  artists  have  understood  so  well  as 
they,  that  the  outward  appearance  of  anything 
constituted  by  reason  must  be  essentially  related 
to  its  inner  character,  or  have  contrived  so  well 
that  that  character  should  be  read  in  the  most 
complete  and  lucid  manner  in  the  form.  Hence 
their  creations  invite  a  far  more  close  and  pro- 
longed scrutiny  than  any  other  works  of  art  of 
any  epoch.  There  is  more  thought,  more  work 
in  them  ;  they  unite  more  perfectly  the  interest 
of  individual  personality  with  the  elevation  and 
selectness  of  a  type. 

§  47.  Sculpture  the  expression  of  the  Greek  moral  idea. 

There  is  a  long  interval  between  these  fully- 
evolved  organic  products  of  Greek  art  in  its 
maturity,  and  the  spontaneous  outflow  of  popular 
excitement  in  the  rustic  festival,  but  they  are  only 
the  extreme  limits  of  a  course  of  development 
which  went  on  smoothly  and  unchecked.  Out  of  the 
common  celebration  of  the  earliest  ages,  religious, 
tribal,  domestic,  grew  up  the  institutions  and  ideas 
of  later  and  more  civilized  times,  and  as  the  people 
advanced  in  intellectual  stature  they  took  stock  at 
these  social  meetings  of  all  that  had  been  gained. 
Hence  art  in  every  form  was  as  closely  related  to 
the  festival  in  the  days  of  Demosthenes  as  in  those 


ITS   ETHICAL    INTEREST  99 

of  Homer,  and  expressed  with  equal  completeness 
the  common  ideals.  Of  all  festal  sites  none  was 
more  in  honour  than  Delphi,  the  religious  centre 
of  Greece,  the  shrine  of  art,  the  home  of  poetry 
and  of  the  Muses.  Within  the  porch  of  the  great 
national  temple  at  Delphi  were  written  four  words 
that  exactly  expressed  the  Hellenic  idea  of 
life.  These  formed  the  two  famous  mottoes  yvcoOi 
creavTov  '  Know  Thyself  and  /uLTjSev  ayav  *  In  All 
Things  Moderation.'  *  Comprehend  your  own 
nature '  was  the  meaning  of  the  mottoes,  *  and 
act  always  by  the  dictates  of  the  highest  part  of 
it,  neyer  letting  self-will  or  passion  throw  you  off 
your  balance  or  lead  you  to  extremes.'  Such  was 
the  type  of  character  that  poets  described,  philo- 
sophers tried  to  inculcate  and  artists  strove  to 
express  in  their  bronze  and  marble.  Wherever 
in  monumental  sculpture  the  human  form  is  por- 
trayed, it  has  this  unvarying  character  of  dignity, 
thoughtfulness  and  self-control.  The  sculptor  was 
not  only  the  mouthpiece  of  the  childish  fancies  of 
the  people,  but  of  its  highest  aspirations  its  most 
mature  ideals. 


CHAPTER    III 

MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

§  48.  Survival  of  tlie  Festival  in  early  Christian  times 

The  social  customs  of  the  ancient  world  were  not 
abrogated  by  Christianity,  save  in  so  far  as  they 
were  glaringly  opposed  to  its  moral  standard.  It 
was  the  policy  of  the  Church  rather  to  incorporate 
these  institutions  in  its  own  system,  giving  a 
Christian  turn  to  what  in  its  origin  was  either 
distinctly  Pagan  or  Jewish,  or  else  was  rooted  in 
the  common  instincts  of  humanity.  Of  this  last 
kind  was  the  festival,  and  we  are  not  surprised  to 
find  that  the  old  classical  festivals  lived  on  under 
the  patronage  of  Christian  Saints,  or  were  con- 
nected with  the  periodical  events  of  the  Christian 
year.  To  this  day,  indeed,  in  the  south  of  Europe, 
it  is  easy  to  discern  a  classical  origin  for  many 
curious  customs  of  the  '  Feste '  to  which  the  people 
themselves  have  lost  the  key. 

§  49.  and  of  its  influence  in  stimulating  Art. 

Art,  that  had  served  classical  religion  so  well, 
freely  proffered  her  services  to  the  new  faith,  and 


THE  riRST  CHRISTIAN   PAINTINGS       lol 

the  tact  of  the  Churchmen  easily  detached  it  from 
its  immoral  associations  and  gave  it  worthy  tasks 
to  perform  in  Christian  service.  The  classical 
artist  had  learned  both  to  provide  the  temporary 
apparatus  for  the  festivals,  and  to  perpetuate  in 
monuments  the  feelings  which  gave  them  birth. 
The  Christian  feast,  of  common  ecclesiastical 
significance,  or  in  memory  of  some  local  saint  or 
martyr,  demanded  similar  apparatus  and  com- 
memoration, and  these  were  supplied  at  first  very 
much  on  the  old  classical  lines.  The  Church 
acted  on  the  well-known  Horatian  maxim,  and 
sought  to  stimulate  the  minds  of  her  childrer 
through  their  eyes  as  well  as  their  ears.  *  At  a 
very  early  period,'  says  a  recent  writer  ^ — certainly 
already  in  the  fifth  century — '  it  was  usual  to 
increase  the  attractions  of  public  worship  on 
special  occasions  by  living  pictures  illustrating 
the  gospel  narrative  and  accompanied  by  songs  ; 
and  thus  a  certain  amount  of  action  gradually 
introduced  itself  into  the  service.'  A  sacred 
drama,  on  classical  models,  on  the  Passion  of 
Christ  (XjOio-T09  7raa")^cov)  is  generally  included 
under  the  works  of  Gregory  Nazianzen,  and  the 
Mysteries  or  miracle-plays  grew  to  be  settled 
institutions  of  the  early  medieval  period.  The 
Passion-play  at  Ober- Ammergau,  though  not 
really  itself  of  medieval  origin,  is  a  revival  of  a 
medieval  tradition  that  had  been  fruitful  in  artistic 
inspiration  from  early  Christian  times. 

iProf.  A.  W.   Ward,  in  Encjf.  BriL^  9th  ed.  Art.   'Drama, 
P-  413. 


'W' MEbmVA'L  l^LORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

§  50.  How  Christian  Painting  began. 

Permanent  representations  were  soon  demanded, 
and  we  obtain  an  interesting  glimpse  of  the  be- 
ginnings of  the  most  important  form  of  Christian 
painting  in  the  writings  of  Paulinus  of  Nola,  from 
the  early  years  of  the  fifth  century.  Paulinus  as 
Bishop  had  to  take  care  for  the  education  and 
conduct  of  his  flock,  and  observed  with  concern 
that  when  the  people  came  together  to  celebrate 
the  festival  of  the  patron  saint  of  his  church,  they 
fell  to  feasting  and  dancing  to  wile  away  the  long 
hours  of  vigil,  or  the  intervals  between  the  religious 
services.  Hence  he  conceived  the  design  of  cover- 
ing the  walls  of  the  church  with  sacred  pictures  of 
an  attractive  and  edifying  kind,  in  the  hope  that, 
v'as  he  expresses  it,  *  the  forms  and  colours  might 
seize  upon  the  astonished  minds  of  the  country 
folk.'  *  Above  the  designs,'  he  continues,  '  are 
placed  their  titles,  so  that  the  written  word 
explains  what  the  hand  has  portrayed.  There, 
while  the  whole  multitude  in  turn  point  out  the 
pictures  one  to  another,  or  go  over  them  by  them- 
selves, they  are  less  quick  than  before  to  think  of 
feasting,  and  feed  with  their  eyes  instead  of  with 
their  lips.  In  this  way,  while  in  wonder  at  the 
paintings  they  forget  their  hunger,  a  better  habit 
lays  gradual  hold  on  them,  and  as  they  read  the 
sacred  histories  they  learn  from  pious  examples 
how  honourable  are  holy  deeds,  and  how  satisfy- 
ing to  thirst  is  sobriety.'^  The  passage — a  most 
instructive  one  for  the  didactic  element  in  Christian 

*  Paulinus  Nolanus,  Poema  de  S.  Fel.  natal.  ^  ix.  541  fF. 


THE  MYSTERY-PLAYS  103 

art — ends  with  some  examples  of  lessons  to  be 
drawn  from  supposed  pictures  of  Old  Testament 
scenes. 

In  this  way  the  mark  of  the  Church  was  set 
upon  the  work  of  the  mural  painter,  who  was 
taught  from  this  time  forward  to  act  up  to  the 
profession,  put  by  Vasari  into  the  mouth  of  an 
early  Florentine  artist,^  that  '  by  painting  saints, 
both  men  and  women,  he  would  thereby  render 
men  better  and  more  devout'  In  this  spirit  the 
Church  demanded  not  only  stories  from  the  Old 
and  New  Testament,  and  from  the  lives  of  saints, 
but  also  the  great  scenes  which  were  to  round  off 
the  shows  of  this  world  and  the  fashion  of  it,  the 
Last  Judgment,  Paradise,  and  the  Inferno.  The 
representation  of  these  scenes  became  a  tradition 
of  Christian  art  that  was  fully  established  by  the 
Italian  Masters  at  the  time  of  the  revival  of 
painting  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
The  movement  which  then  took  place  did  not 
involve  the  creation  of  new  types  or  new  scenes, 
except  in  those  cases  when  a  fresh  saint  with  his 
cycle,  like  St.  Francis,  had  appeared  upon  the 
stage.  In  all  the  stock-subjects,  Cimabue  and 
Duccio  and  Giotto  had  inherited  from  the  earlier 
ages  of  medieval  art  certain  traditional  modes  of 
rendering,  which  we  find  in  MS.  illuminations,  in 
the  Romanesque  wall-paintings  of  Germany,  and 
in  the  Mt.  Athos  Hand-book. 

^Vasari,  Opere^  ed.  Milanesi,  Firenze,   1878  etc.  I.  p.  501,  Vita 
di  Buonamico  Buffahnacco, 


I04  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

§  51.  The  Florentines  as  representing  medieval 
Culture  and  Art. 

The  secret  of  the  brilliant  development  of 
painting  in  Italy  from  this  time  onwards  was  the 
general  stirring  of  new  life,  originating  perhaps  in 
the  Crusades,  which  sent  the  blood  coursing  with 
quick  pulsation  through  every  artery  of  the  state. 
This  quickening  was  felt  very  early  at  Florence, 
whose  citizens  in  the  thirteenth  century  are 
described  in  a  *mot'  attributed  to  Boniface  VIII 
as  *  the  fifth  element,'  so  ubiquitous  were  they  and 
versatile  ;  it  was  therefore  natural  that  the  Floren- 
tines should  excel  the  other  Italians  in  the  vivid- 
ness and  force  with  which  they  could  realize  this 
outward  side  of  medieval  religion,  and  embody  it 
first  in  actual  scenic  representations,  and  then  in 
the  permanent  form  of  the  mural  fresco. 

§  52.  The  Florentine  Pageant  and  Mystery-play. 

The  value  of  the  mysteries  and  pageants  as  an 
element  in  the  inception  and  development  of 
monumental  painting  can  best  be  studied  among 
this  gifted  people,  who  carried  both  forms  of  art 
to  a  higher  level  than  they  have  ever  elsewhere 
attained.  Keenly  intellectual,  they  tolerated  no 
merely  senseless  shows  and  confused  representa- 
tions, and  though  their  artistic  allegories,  like  the 
literary  ones  of  Dante,,  might  require  some  con- 
siderable wit  to  read,  yet  they  were  careful  that 
everything  presented  should  have  some  definite 
meaning,  and  should  play  its  appointed  part  in 
some  larger  unity.     Jacob  Burckhardt  dwells  on 


THE   FLORENTINES  AS  'FESTAIUOLr     105 

the  superiority  in  this  respect  of  Italian  pageants 
over  those  that  were  so  abundant  north  of  the 
Alps,^  and  in  Italy  itself  the  Florentines  were  so  ^ 
generally  recognized  as  leaders,  that  they  were 
consulted  by  other  cities  or  courts  as  professional 
experts  or  '  festaiuoli '  in  all  kinds  of  mummery. 
Although  some  priest  or  some  learned  classicist 
might  originate  the  scheme  of  a  pageant,  it  was 
the  artists  who  had  to  carry  it  out,  and  they  used 
in  the  process  a  vast  amount  of  feigned  or 
temporary  architecture  and  of  sculpture  in  clay  or 
plaster,  as  well  as  of  painting  and  gilding  on 
woodwork,  panel  and  canvas.  Frameworks  of 
iron  and  timber,  of  cardboard  and  cloth,  had  to  be 
put  together  and  finished  over  with  a  coating  of 
wax,  attributes  to  be  prepared  for  saints  and 
allegorical  personages,  and  masks  to  be  painted. 

§  63.  Effect  of  these  on  Art. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  actual  employment 
thus  given  that  told  on  the  artist,  as  the  oppor- 
tunity he  had  for  the  study  of  the  subjects  which 
came  before  him  in  his  business  of  a  frescoist.  In 
this  way  it  came  about  that  *  the  Italian  festival  in 
its  fully  developed  form  became  in  reality  an 
intermediate  stage,  making  easy  the  transition 
from  actual  life  to  art.'  ^ 

It  was  so  because,  to  a  people  of  such  lively 
imagination,  these  celebrations,  though  make- 
believe,  were  well-nigh  as  real  as  work,  traffic  or 
war.     The  world  of  ideas  was  familiar  to  them, 

"^  Die  CulHir  der  Renaissance  in  Italien,  Basel,  i860,  p.  403. 
^Burckhardt,  ibid.  p.  401. 


io6  xMEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

and  in  the  freedom  and  exhilaration  of  the  festival 
they  sought  to  embody  these  ideas,  however 
crudely,  in  material  form.  Later  on  it  would  be 
for  the  painter  to  refine  and  beautify  these  forms, 
to  fill  them  more  full  of  significance,  and  fix  them 
as  a  permanent  memorial  on  wall  or  panel ;  but 
for  the  moment  the  fancy  leapt  forth  to  concrete 
act  before  the  tardy  pencil  of  the  painter  could 
find  for  it  the  chosen  and  appropriate  shape,  and 
this  helped  him  incalculably.  He  could  rehearse, 
as  it  were,  his  compositions,  noting  the  harmony 
or  discord  resulting  from  this  or  that  arrangement 
of  figures  or  details,  the  vivid  effect  of  this  or  that 
unexpected  touch  of  life  ;  he  could  recognize  what 
was  appropriate  in  action  or  gesture,  what  was 
the  value  in  a  scene  of  a  crowded  mass  and  the 
value  of  an  isolated  single  figure,  and  in  every  way 
consolidate  and  make  clear  his  artistic  perception 
of  how  to  render  a  theme  with  the  most  life-like 
and  forcible  directness.  And  how  ample  were  the 
means  of  study  thus  afforded  !  There  is  not  one 
of  the  stock  subjects  of  the  Italian  frescoist  that 
might  not  be  seen  presented  in  actual  show  in 
some  pageant  or  representation  ('rappresentazione') 
and  of  more  out-of-the-way  themes  not  one  for 
which  studies  would  not  be  made  by  any  painter 
who  could  use  aright  his  memory  or  his  tablets. 

§  54.  Rehearsal  of  artistic  subjects  in  the  Pageants. 

To  take  a  single  illustration.  What  subject 
was  more  delightful  to  the  *  quattrocentisti '  artists 
than  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi  ?  To  it  they  lent 
their  full  strength.     Plate  IV  shows  the  picture  of 


1   >-    J 
»  » 


'»       >  »  » 


•       •  •    .  0»      .     »-  .      J       J  ,J 

•    3  »        a 


•  •    •  •• 

•  •    • 

•  ••'.-•  T  »  :  » 


Plate  IV.       To  face  p.   io6. 
Adoration  of  the  Magi,  by  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  in  the  Academy  at  Florence. 


:       t    c 


THE  'RAPPkESENTAZIONP  I07 

the  scene  by  Gentile  da  Fabriano  (in  the  Academy 
at  Florence),  an  epoch-making  work  in  the  early 
years  of  the  fifteenth  century,  while  the  same 
subject  treated  by  Benozzo  Gozzoli  in  the  chapel 
of  the  Riccardi  Palace  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful pieces  of  decorative  art  of  the  whole  period. 
We  notice  in  Plate  IV  the  realistic  dresses  and 
accoutrements,  the  strange  oriental  beasts,  the 
varied  bye-play  of  the  swarming  retainers,  and 
these  were  not  merely  imagined  by  the  artist  but 
had  actually  been  part  of  his  experience.  For 
this  incident  of  the  Magi,  like  all  the  rest  of  the 
sacred  themes,  before  the  fifteenth-century  painters 
took  it  in  hand,  had  been  made  the  occasion  of 
a  rappresentazione  which  left  the  frescoists  really 
nothing  to  do  but  to  copy  what  they  had  seen 
before  their  very  eyes.  Here  is  the  literal  account 
from  a  trustworthy  authority  of  what  might  have 
been  witnessed  in  the  streets  of  Milan  in  the  year 
1336  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Feast  of  the 
Epiphany.  Issuing  probably  from  the  enclosed 
Atrium  of  Sant'  Ambrogio — an  excellent  place 
to  arrange  a  pageant — there  appear  before  the 
spectators  the  very  three  kings  themselves,  robed 
and  crowned  on  their  palfreys  and  surrounded  by 
their  attendants  leading  along  the  sumpter  mules. 
A  golden  star  glides  in  the  air  before  them  and 
marshals  them  through  the  streets  to  the  ancient 
columns  in  front  of  San  Lorenzo,  where  has  been 
set  up  a  tableau  of  Herod  the  king  in  the  midst 
of  his  scribes  and  wise  men.  *  There  they  inter- 
rogated king  Herod  as  to  where  Christ  should  be 
born,  and   having  turned   over   many  books,  the 


io8  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

scribes  answered  that  he  should  be  born  in  the 
city  of  Bethlehem  hard  by  Jerusalem.  And  when 
they  heard  this,  those  three  kings,  crowned  with 
golden  crowns  and  holding  in  their  hands  golden 
cups  with  gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh, 
preceded  still  by  the  celestial  star,  and  followed 
by  their  sumpter  mules  and  all  their  train  with 
trumpets  sounding  and  hornblowers  going  before, 
and  men  leading  along  apes  and  baboons  and  all 
kinds  of  outlandish  beasts,  in  the  midst  of  a 
wondrous  concourse  of  the  folk,  came  at  length 
to  the  church  of  Sant'  Eustorgio.  Here  by  the 
side  of  the  high  altar  was  the  Holy  Stable  with 
the  ox  and  the  ass,  and  within  it  Christ  as  infant 
in  the  arms  of  his  Virgin  Mother.  Then  those 
kings  offered  to  Christ  their  gifts,  and  afterwards 
appeared  to  sleep,  when  an  angel  came  to  them 
and  bade  them  not  return  by  San  Lorenzo  but  by 
the  Roman  gate,  and  this  they  straightway  did.'  ^ 

§  55.  The  artist  studies  from  the  Pageants. 

It  needs  only  a  moment's  reflection  on  a 
description  like  the  foregoing  to  realize  the 
immense  influence  on  Italian  painting  of  these 
mimic  shows.  The  whole  character  of  that  phase 
of  art,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  was  dependent 
on  the  conditions  under  which  it  flourished.  Its 
exuberant  life,  its  outwardness,  its  general  want  of 
true  religious  depth  and  earnestness  (which  are 
exceptional  when  they  appear),  its  passion  for 
large  scenes  crowded  with  figures   and   glittering 

^Gualveneus  de  la   Flamma,    in  Muratori,  Rertim   Italicarum 
Scriptoresy  Milan,  1728,  torn.  xii.  col.  1017. 


A  FLORENTINE  PAGEANT  109 

with  *  properties,' — all  in  fact  that  gives  it  for  us 
its  perennial  charm,  is  just  the  crystallization,  so 
to  say,  of  the  elements  that  floated  so  freely  about 
the  Italy  of  the  Festa  and  the  Carnival.  The 
connection  is  so  patent  that  direct  evidence  is 
hardly  needed,  yet  the  following  may  be  worth 
recording.  Delia  Valle  in  his  Lettere  Sanest 
sopra  le  belle  Arti^  in  describing  a  picture  of  the 
Massacre  of  the  Innocents  painted  in  1491  by 
Matteo  Giovanni  of  Siena,  explains  the  evident 
fascination  of  this  scene  for  the  painters  and  the 
public  of  the  time,  by  the  fact  that,  as  he  was 
informed  by  a  book  in  his  possession  published  in 
Siena  early  in  the  sixteenth  century,  representa- 
tions of  this  and  similar  sacred  incidents  were 
wont  '  to  be  performed  in  the  churches  on  certain 
solemn  occasions  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
people,'  and  he  adds  that  the  scenes  were 
evidently  played  in  a  manner  more  forcible  than 
elegant,  and  ended  sometimes  with  a  touch  of 
buffoonery. 

§  56.  Characteristic  illustrations  of  the  Florentine 

Pageants. 
The  importance  of  this  side  of  the  artistic  life 
of  the  time,  to  which  justice  has  not  always  been 
done,  is  so  great  as  to  excuse  a  somewhat  ex- 
tended treatment.  A  few  pages  may  accordingly 
well  be  occupied  by  an  account  of  the  different 
kinds  of  pageant  and  representation,  both  religious 
and  classical,  which  flourished  during  the  golden 
period  of  Italian  painting.  To  begin  with  the 
^Romje,  1786,  ni.  p.  52  f. 


no  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

strictly  religious  devices.  These  may  stagger  us 
at  first  by  their  freedom,  but  let  us  remember  that 
the  Italian  rappresentazioni  were  at  any  rate  soon 
redeemed  from  the  medieval  coarseness  and 
clumsiness  which  clung  to  them  so  much  longer 
north  of  the  Alps.  We  cannot  imagine  a  pageant 
devised  by  a  Brunelleschi  as  other  than  daintily 
rendered,  however  venturesome  may  seem  his 
choice  of  theme.  Reverence,  it  need  not  be  said, 
was  never  the  gift  of  the  Italians,  and  Brunelleschi's 
daring  device,  known  as  the  Paradise  of  San 
Felice  in  Piazza,  represented  nothing  less  lofty 
than  the  Annunciation  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
celestial  powers.  Vasari  gives  us  a  full  descrip- 
tion of  this  to  which  the  reader  is  accordingly 
referred.^  We  see  therein  how  realistically  ren- 
dered was  the  whole  scene,  which  included  the 
Virgin  Mary,  the  archangel  Gabriel,  the  angel 
choir,  and  even  the  form  of  the  Almighty  himself 
enthroned  on  high ;  and  we  may  ask.  What  is  the 
difference  between  a  representation  such  as  this, 
and  those  numerous  wall-paintings  in  tall  spaces 
arched  above,  where  we  see  up  aloft  the  Powers  of 
Heaven  on  the  clouds,  and  in  mid-air  a  ring  of 
cherubs  singing,  as  Luini  has  painted  them  in  the 
upper  part  of  his  fresco  of  the  Adoration  of 
the  Magi  at  Saronno,  while  below  takes  place  the 
sacred  event  ?  The  painting  has  selectness  in  the 
forms  and  concentration  and  permanence,  but 
the  pageant,  we  may  be  sure,  had  beauty  and  even 
a  certain  thrilling  impressiveness.  Impressive  too 
in  a  different  way  was  another  *  Old  Florentine  * 
*  Opere^  ed.  Milanesi,  ii.  p.  375  ff.  Vita  di  Filippo  Brunelleschi, 


ECCLESIASTICAL  TABLEAUX  in 

rappresentazione  of  which  Villani  gives  us  the 
notice.  It  was  in  the  year  of  grace  1304  that 
word  was  passed  round  Florence  that  all  who 
wished  to  learn  some  news  of  the  other  world  were 
to  assemble  on  the  Calends  of  May  upon  the 
Carraja  Bridge  and  along  the  Arno.  There  sure 
enough  was  to  be  seen  arranged  on  sundry  barges 
a  most  fearsome  pageant  of  the  nether  regions 
wherein  were  demons  innumerable,  *  horrible  to 
see/  and  the  naked  souls  of  the  condemned 
roasted  with  fire  and  flayed  in  truly  Dantesque 
fashion.  The  show  was  arranged  by  painters^ 
and  was  given  by  one  of  the  districts  of  Florence. 
So  great  was  the  concourse  of  people  that  the  old 
timber  bridge  broke  down  and  many  perished  in 
the  Arno — about  whom  the  grim  jest  went  round 
the  city,  that  they  had  got  what  they  expected, 
but  were  now  seeing  rather  more  of  what  goes  on 
in  the  other  world  than  they  had  bargained  for.^ 

§57.   Dramatization  of  the  scenes  of  the  Passion  of 
Christ. 

The  importance  of  scenes  from  the  Passion  of 
Christ  in  the  mystery-plays  is  well  known,  and  we 
should  expect  them  to  be  worked  up  with  Italian 
refinement  in  the  Tuscan  cities.  We  should 
hardly  have  been  prepared  however  for  the  sight 
of  a  performer  who  represented  the  person  of  the 
Saviour,  with  body  undraped  save  for  the  loin 
cloth,  with  the  crown  of  thorns  upon  his  head  and 
with  the  flesh  so  painted  as  to  look  as  if  it  had 

^Vasari,  ed.  Milanesi,  i.  p.  510,  Vita  di  Buonamico  Buffalmacco. 
^  Giov.  Villani,  Istorie  Fiorentine^  viii.  c.  70. 


112  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

sweated  blood.  Yet  such  a  figure,  holding  a  cross 
on  which  it  was  made  to  appear  that  he  had  been 
suspended,  was  a  conspicuous  figure  in  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  church  pageants  recorded  in 
the  fifteenth  century — the  festival  of  the  Corpus 
Christi,  celebrated  by  Pius  II  at  Viterbo  in  1462. 
On  this  occasion  the  streets  and  places  were 
divided  out  among  the  cardinals  and  other  church 
dignitaries,  who  first  adorned  them  with  incredible 
magnificence  and  then  arranged  along  them  on 
stages  various  sacred  tableaux  and  performances. 
There  was  the  form  of  Christ  recumbent  beneath 
an  altar,  played  by  a  youth  who  feigned  to  draw 
from  his  side  a  chalice  full  of  the  sacred  blood, 
while  a  choir  of  winged  angels  chanted  holy  strains 
and  clouds  of  incense  arose  into  the  air.  A  little 
further  might  have  been  seen  a  tableau  of  the 
Last  Supper.  Then  for  a  change  a  space  of  the 
way  was  occupied  not  by  a  scenic  show  but  by 
rich  hangings,  on  which  cunning  weavers  had 
depicted  sacred  stories  in  the  liveliest  colours.  A 
bustling  display  followed.  Here  was  a  terrific 
dragon  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  imps  of  dark- 
ness, but  as  the  chariot  of  the  Pope  approached 
in  the  procession,  an  armed  warrior  representing 
St.  Michael  decapitated  the  dragon,  whereupon 
all  the  demons  fled  with  a  horrid  barking.  In 
the  midst  of  the  marketplace  there  appeared  the 
sepulchre  of  our  Lord,  with  soldiers  in  armour 
stretched  out  in  sleep  as  if  they  were  dead,  and 
angel  guards  watching  '  that  the  chamber  of  the 
celestial  bridegroom  be  not  violated.'  When  the 
Pope   reached   the  spot  *  behold   suddenly  as   it 


A  FESTIVAL  AT  VITERBO  113 

were  from  heaven  there  flew  down  by  the  aid  of 
a  rope,  a  youth  of  most  beauteous  form  winged 
like  an  angel,  who  with  the  mien  of  a  seraph 
made  inclination  to  the  Prince  and  then  in  divine 
accents  sang  a  hymn  announcing  the  coming 
Resurrection  of  the  Lord.  There  was  a  great 
silence,  no  one  uttered  a  word  :  all  listened  en- 
tranced, as  if  it  were  the  thing  itself  that  were  being 
done  and  this  were  in  very  truth  a  messenger  from 
heaven.'  Then  suddenly  arose  lightnings  and 
thunder,  the  sleeping  soldiers  started  up,  but 
recoiled  in  terror  as  there  appeared  issuing  from 
the  tomb  the  risen  Saviour,  crowned  and  holding 
the  banner  of  the  Cross.  The  culmination  of  the 
whole  was  the  performance,  in  the  grand  Piazza, 
of  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin  arranged  in  the 
following  way.  Below  was  the  tomb,  but  on  the 
top  of  some  houses  hard  by  was  set  out  the  court 
of  the  celestial  king,  '  where  was  seated  God  in 
majesty,  with  the  choirs  of  the  holy  angels,  and 
blazing  stars,  and  all  the  joys  of  heavenly  glory.' 
'  The  divine  offices  were  then  performed  in  the 
Piazza  amidst  the  deep  devotion  of  the  people ; 
the  Cardinal  of  St.  Mark  celebrated  mass,  the 
Pope  blessed  the  multitude.  Then,  behold,  a 
youth  representing  an  angel  announced  in 
sweetest  strains  the  Virgin's  approaching  assump- 
tion. Thereupon  the  tomb  opened,  and  there 
appeared  a  most  lovely  maiden  sustained  by  the 
hands  of  angels,  who  proceeded  to  loosen  and  let 
fall  her  girdle,  and  then  with  joyful  mien  and 
singing  sweetly  was  taken  up  into  heaven.  There 
her  Son  came   forward  to  meet  her ;    he  kissed 

H 


114  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

her  on  the  forehead,  presented  her  to  the  Eternal 
Father  and  set  her  down  upon  his  own  right 
hand.  Then  chanted  the  celestial  hosts,  and 
touched  their  instruments  of  music,  and  all  heaven 
was  full  of  joyful  smiles  and  gladness.'  ^ 

§58.  The  religious  and  secular  'Triumphs.' 

A  special  form  of  the  religious  pageant  was 
the  so-called  '  Trionfo '  or  procession,  in  which 
appeared  masked  and  costumed  mummers  repre- 
senting sacred  personages  or  allegorical  beings,  as 
well  as  cars  elaborately  adorned  with  symbolical 
trappings  and  bearing  along  groups  of  persons 
or  set  pieces  got  up  with  accessories  and  back- 
grounds. From  Early  Christian  times  processions 
had  formed  a  part  of  the  services  in  the  great 
churches,  and  had  not  been  without  their  dramatic 
elements.  The  *  triumph '  was  the  same  thing  on 
an  extended  scale  and  in  the  open  air.  Dante 
was  not  drawing  wholly  on  his  imagination  when 
he  describes  the  triumphal  procession  of  Beatrice 
in  the  Purgatorio^  in  which  appeared  the  four 
and  twenty  elders,  the  four  beasts,  the  three 
Christian  and  four  cardinal  virtues  together  with 
various  saints.  He  had  no  doubt  seen  such 
performances,  and  if  the  memory  of  them  gave 
distinctness  to  his  description,  it  must  have 
influenced  in  the  same  way  the  frescoists  when 
they  came  to  adorn  their  friezes  with  long  lines 
of  sacred  personages.  But  the  sacred  triumph 
was  rivalled  in  later  times  by  the  more  seculai 

^Pius  II,  Commentarii^  Romae,  1584,  L.  viii.  p.  384  ft. 
^xxix.  43 — XXX.  ; 


THE  TRIUMPH  SACRED  AND  PROFANE    115 

processions  imitating  Roman  triumphs,  which 
came  into  vogue  with  the  revival  of  classical 
studies,  and  which  again  furnished  congenial 
artistic  themes  to  painters  like  Mantegna.^  In 
Florence,  on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  Pope  Leo  X, 
Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  represented  the  triumph 
of  Paulus  ^milius,  followed  by  that  of  Camillus. 
These  two  processions  were  both  arranged 
and  furnished  forth  by  the  painter  Francesco 
Granacci,  under  the  skilled  direction  of  Lorenzo 
himself  and  of  the  learned  Jacopo  Nardi.^  In 
the  life  of  Jacopo  da  Pontormo  by  Vasari  the 
reader  will  find  elaborate  descriptions  of  the  rival 
pageants  prepared  for  the  Florentine  carnival  of 
I  5  1 3  to  celebrate  the  election  of  a  Medici  to  the 
Papal  Chair.^  The  most  learned  scholars  racked 
their  brains  for  suitable  classical  representations 
to  fit  the  humanistic  taste  of  the  times,  and 
dressed  them  out  with  all  the  wealth  of  allegorical 
allusion  at  their  command.  A  staff  of  artists  and 
craftsmen  of  all  kinds — architects,  modellers, 
painters,  gilders,  costumiers,  inscription  writers, 
theatrical  makers-up,  carpenters,  smiths — was  kept 
hard  at  work  carrying  out  the  designs,  and 
though  the  whole  thing  may  appear  to  us  to  be 
rather  overladen,  the  splendour  and  richness  of  it 
must  have  passed  all  bounds.  The  chariot  of 
the  Age  of  Gold,  to  take  one  item  only,  was 
adorned   with  figures  in   relief  by  Baccio  Bandi- 

1  Mantegna's  Triumph  of  Julius  Csesar  at  Hampton  Court  is  just 
a  painter's  rendering  of  one  of  these  actual  Trionfi. 

2  Vasari,  V.  p.  340  f.  Vita  di  Francesco  Granacci. 
^  Ibid.  VI.  p.  250  ff.  Vita  di  Jacopo  da  Pontormo, 


ii6  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

nelli,  and  by  Pontormo  with  paintings.  In  the 
midst  of  the  car  was  a  globe  as  of  the  world, 
with  a  prostrate  figure  of  a  man  in  rusty  armour 
lying  on  it,  to  represent  the  dead  age  of  iron. 
The  armour  was  however  cleft,  and  from  the 
fissure  there  proceeded  the  naked  figure  of  a 
child,  gilded  all  over  to  convey  the  idea  of  a 
new  age  of  gold  reviving.  The  gilded  child  was 
a  baker's  boy  hired  for  ten  scudi,  and  the  per- 
formance unhappily  killed  him. 

No  sooner  had  humanistic  studies  so  far  es- 
tablished themselves  as  to  relegate  to  the  back- 
ground the  old  religious  representations,  than 
all  the  energies  of  the  festaiuoli  were  devoted  to 
the  contrivance  and  arrangement  of  processions 
of  a  classical  and  allegorical  order.  They  were 
accompanied  by  singers  whose  strains  served  as 
a  program  or  description  of  the  show,  and  a 
glance  through  Grazzini  s  published  collection  of 
these  poems  ^  will,  with  the  help  of  a  lively 
imagination,  suffice  to  fill  for  us  the  streets  of 
Florence  with  pageants  gay  or  gloomy,  graceful 
or  rollicking,  in  which  all  the  heterogeneous 
elements  of  the  culture  of  an  age  of  transition, 
jostled  one  another  in  the  most  admired  con- 
fusion. Grazzini's  collection  opens  with  the  song 
for  the  triumph  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  ascribed 
to  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  himself,  and  the  verses  bid 
us  behold  the  amorous  pair  in  their  chariot,  begirt 
with  Nymphs  and  the  little  Satyrs  their  lovers, 
and  followed  by  Silenus  with  all   the  Dionysiac 

1  Tutti  i  Trionfi  .   .   .   o  canti  carnascialescMi  edited  by  Grazzini, 
Cosmopoli  (Lucca),  1750. 


FESTAL  SURROUNDINGS  OF  THE  ARTIST    117 

rout.  Other  poems  introduce  us  to  spectacles 
whimsical  and  tragic,  satirical  or  charming,  such 
as  the  show  of  *  monks  loose  from  their  convent,' 
of  *  the  poor  asking  for  alms,'  of  *  the  condemned 
souls,'  of  *  devils,'  of  *  the  blest  from  Paradise ' ;  of 

*  countrymen  crying  all  kinds  of  fruit '  (with  covert 
allusions) ;  of  '  the  seasons,'  *  the  sciences,'  *  the 
virtues,'  '  the  planets '  ;  of  *  young  wives  and  old 
husbands ' ;    of   *  the  painters,'    *  the    shoemakers,' 

*  the  muleteers ' ;  of  *  the  elements,'  *  the  summer,' 

*  the  snow ' ;  while  the  list  of  the  giddy  revels 
may  fitly  close  with  the  elaborate  pageant  of  the 
car  of  Death  described  by  Vasari,^  that  was 
accompanied  by  singers  disguised  as  corpses  who 
chanted  out  a  lay  by  Alamanni  with  the  doleful 
refrain — 

*  Penitence  and  pain  and  grief 
Rend  all  hearts  without  relief, 
Penitence  and  grief  we  cry 
This  funereal  company. 
As  ye  are  so  once  were  we 
Like  to  us  ye  soon  shall  be.* 

§  59.  Festal  aspect  of  the  artist's  general  surroundings 
at  Florence. 

Apart  however  from  the  formal  representations, 
through  which,  as  we  have  seen,  the  artist's  work 
was  more  than  half  done  for  him  before  he  had 
even  set  charcoal  to  paper  for  his  cartoons,  there 
was  the  general  atmosphere  of  the  festival,  and 
therefore  of  art,  which  filled  every  place  and 
acted  as  a  constant  and  powerful  stimulus  to 
the    creative    fancy.       It    was    not    the    set-piece 

1  Opere^  IV.  p.  134,  Vita  di  Piero  di  Cosimo. 


Ii8  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

alone,  but  the  sudden  unpremeditated  explosion 
of  the  festal  fire,  that  made  the  Florence  of  Dante 
and  the  Florence  of  Lorenzo  so  prolific  in  her 
special  forms  of  art.  Then,  as  a  recent  historian 
of  the  City  exclaims,  *  every  spectacle  was  a  fete, 
and  there  was  nothing  that  was  not  made  a 
spectacle — a  picture  to  be  looked  at  in  the 
painter's  workshop,  a  betrothal,  a  wedding,  the 
taking  of  the  habit  by  a  novice,  the  first  mass 
of  a  priest,  the  last  rites  for  the  dead,  a  popular 
assembly,  the  election  of  magistrates,  their  entry 
into  office,  the  march-out  or  return  of  the  army, 
the  arrival  or  departure  of  distinguished  guests — 
for  all  alike  the  bells  rang  out  a  festal  peal 
and  the  people  ran  together  at  their  clamorous 
summons.'  ^  One  would  fain  have  seen  those 
youths  crowned  with  flowers,  who  marched  on 
May-day  through  the  streets  in  the  train  of  one 
fairest  of  them  all  who  enacted  the  god  of 
love;^  or  that  sumptuous  wedding  in  the 
Adimari  family  on  June  22,  1420,  when  the 
Piazza  San  Giovanni  was  canopied  all  over  with 
red  and  white  cloth,  and  beneath  it  the  cavaliers 
and  ladies  bidden  to  the  feast,  all  in  gold  and 
pearls  and  ermine,  were  dancing  hand  in  hand, 
as  we  may  see  them  dance  to-day  in  Lorenzetti's 
fresco  of  the  City  at  Peace  in  the  Palazzo 
Pubblico  at  Siena.^  All  such  private  fetes  were 
however  cast  into  the  shade  by  the  great  popular 
festival  of  San  Giovanni  held  yearly  on  June  24 

^  Perrens,  Histoire  de  Florence^  Paris,  1877,  iii.  p.  394. 

2  In  1283,  Villani,  vii.  89. 

^ V Osservatore  FiorentinOy  Firenze,  1777,  il.  pt.  I 


SAN   GIOVANNPS  DAY  tig 

when  the  Arti,  or  Trade-guilds,  the  nobles,  the 
political  factions,  the  different  quarters  of 
the  city,  used  to  combine  to  form  companies 
of  revellers  or  to  display  pageants.  We  are 
fortunate  in  possessing  from  the  pen  of  the 
historian  Goro  Dati,  who  was  born  in  1363,  an 
elaborate  account  of  the  celebrations  of  San 
Giovanni  as  witnessed  in  his  time.  A  translation 
of  part  of  this  may  be  fitly  included  in  the 
present  chapter.  It  is  a  document  which,  in  spite 
of  its  diffuseness,  the  reader  will  not  be  sorry 
to  possess,  as  the  very  garrulity  of  the  enthusiastic 
annalist  bears  testimony  to  the  impression  made 
by  the  rich  and  brilliant  display.^ 

§  60.  A  fourteenth-century  description  of  the  Florentine 
Festival  of  San  Giovanni. 

'  When  comes  the  time  of  spring,  which  makes 
all  the  world  grow  glad,  every  Florentine  begins 
to  think  how  best  he  may  celebrate  the  feast 
of  San  Giovanni  which  is  due  in  the  middle  of 
the  summer,  and  each  one  makes  provision  in  due 
time  of  robes  and  ornaments  and  jewels.  Has 
any  one  wedding  feasts  or  other  celebrations  in 
view,  he  puts  them  off  till  this  time  even  from 
two  months  before,  and  all  the  interval  is  de- 
voted to  getting  ready  the  Palio^  and  the 
vestments  of  the  attendants,  and  the  banners 
and  the  trumpets,  and  the  wax-candles  and  all 
the    other    offerings,   as    well   as    the   lengths    of 

^Goro  Dati,  Istoria  di  Firenze,  Firenze,  1 735,  p.  84  fF. 
^  The  *  Palio  '  was  a  splendid  mantle  or  piece  of  stuff  offered  as  the 
prize  for  the  horse-race  on  San  Giovanni's  festival.     See  infra. 


iio  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

stuff  that  the  districts  under  the  protection  of 
the  Commune  offer  as  tribute.  Then  too  there 
are  coming  in  supplies  of  viands  for  the  banquets, 
and  the  horses  arrive  from  every  part  to  run 
for  the  Palio,  and  all  the  city  is  busy  with  the 
preparations,  while  the  minds  of  the  youths  and 
maidens  are  all  alert  and  ready  for  the  festival. 
Nor  does  the  approach  of  this  feast  prevent  men 
from  observing  any  that  fall  in  the  preceding 
weeks,  such  as  San  Zanobi,  and  the  Ascension, 
and  the  Spirito  Santo,  and  the  Holy  Trinity,  and 
Corpus  Christi  day,  for  on  all  these  festivals  they 
yield  their  hearts  up  none  the  less  to  joyfulness, 
and  dance  and  sing  and  make  music  over  their 
banquets  and  jousts  and  every  other  graceful 
sport,  so  that  one  would  think  that  there  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done  during  all  the  time  before 
San  Giovanni's  day. 

*  But  when  at  last  there  comes  the  vigil  of  the 
feast,  then  in  the  morning  very  early  all  the 
Trades  (Arti)  make  a  show  outside  their  shops 
with  all  the  rich  and  lovely  things,  the  ornaments 
and  the  jewels  they  had  prepared.  Such  cloth 
of  gold  and  silk  is  there  on  view  as  would  furnish 
forth  ten  realms,  such  jewels  of  gold  and  of 
silver,  such  canopies,  such  painted  canvases,  such 
wondrous  inlaid  panels  and  all  sorts  of  arms 
and  armour  that  could  never  be  counted  up. 

*  Now  about  the  third  hour  throughout  the 
city  there  winds  a  solemn  procession  of  all  the 
clerics,  priests,  monks,  and  brothers  of  all  the 
different  orders,  with  such  infinite  treasure  of 
relics    of  the  saints    that    it   is    a    most    solemn 


SAN   GIOVANNI'S   DAY  121 

and  religious  show,  let  alone  the  marvellous 
richness  of  their  robes  and  sacred  vestments, 
with  the  cloth  of  gold  and  silk  and  embroidered 
designs  which  the  whole  world  could  not  match. 
With  them  come  many  bands  of  secular  persons 
attached  to  the  companies  of  religious  orders  and 
dressed  as  angels,  or  imitating  in  the  most  vivid 
manner  some  of  the  Saints  of  the  orders,  or 
even  the  very  relics  they  honour,  and  these  all 
stream  on  with  songs  and  shouts  and  the  sound 
of  all  manner  of  instruments.  From  Sta.  Maria 
del  Fiore  the  procession  starts,  goes  round  the 
city  and  thither  again  returns. 

*  Later  on  after  midday  when  the  heat  is  a 
little  abated,  about  the  hour  of  Vespers,  all  the 
citizens  are  arrayed  each  under  his  own  banner  in 
sixteen  bands,  each  band  in  its  place,  one  follow- 
ing the  other,  with  the  citizens  under  each  banner 
walking  two  and  two,  the  older  and  more  honour- 
able in  front  and  the  rest  following,  till  at 
last  come  the  boys  all  in  richest  dress,  and  they 
go  to  offer  one  by  one  a  candle  of  a  pound's 
weight  each  in  the  church  of  San  Giovanni.  The 
bands  are  some  of  them,  or  indeed  for  the  most 
part,  preceded  by  performers  who  play  or  engage 
in  pleasant  diversion  or  mimic  representations. 
All  along  the  streets  where  they  pass,  the  walls 
and  stone  seats  are  adorned  with  canopies  and 
rugs,  and  the  crowd  fills  every  place  and  there 
are  everywhere  fair  maidens  and  youths  robed 
in  silk  and  adorned  with  jewels  and  precious 
stones  and  pearls,  and  this  ceremony  lasts  till 
the   going  down  of  the  sun  ;  then  when  all   the 


122  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

candles  are  offered,  the  citizens  with  their  dames 
return  to  their  houses  to  prepare  for  the  day 
following. 

'  On  the  morning  of  San  Giovanni  he  who  shall 
go  to  see  the  Piazza  de'  Signori  will  behold  a 
thing  most  wondrous  and  magnificent  and  festal 
so  that  the  mind  can  hardly  take  it  in.  Within 
the  grand  piazza  are  a  hundred  towers  that  seem 
of  gold  and  are  called  "candles"  (some  borne' 
on  cars  and  some  by  carriers)  made  of  wood 
or  cardboard  and  wax,  and  decked  with  gold 
and  colours  and  with  figures  in  relief  representing 
on  this  side  cavaliers  all  armed  or  footmen  with 
lances  and  bucklers,  and  on  another  side  maidens 
dancing  in  a  ring,  while  above  these  figures  there 
are  modelled  animals  and  birds  and  all  kinds 
of  trees  and  fruit  and  everything  that  may 
delight  the  vision  and  the  heart.  The  towers 
are  hollowed  within,  and  men  inside  continually 
turn  them  so  that  the  devices  are  seen  on 
every  hand.'  v 

A  description  of  the  processions  and  offerings, 
official  and  private,  at  the  shrine  of  San  Giovanni 
now  follows,  and  the  historian  concludes  with  the 
account  of  the  great  event  of  the  Festa,  the 
race  for  the  '  Palio '  or  mantle.  '  Afterwards, 
when  midday  is  past  and  the  folk  have  dined 
and  taken  some  repose  as  each  one  pleases, 
the  ladies  and  the  cavaliers  all  flock  together 
to  the  spot  where  the  coursers  running  for  the 
Palio  will  have  to  pass.  And  these  go  through 
the  midst  of  the  city  along  a  straight  street 
wherein  are  many  habitations  and  fair  houses  and 


SAN   GIOVANNI'S    DAY  123 

rich,  and  of  citizens  of  repute,  more  than  in 
any  other  part.  From  one  end  to  the  other 
of  the  city  then,  along  this  straight  street  fragrant 
everywhere  with  flowers,  you  would  see  all  the 
ladies  and  all  the  jewels  and  all  the  rich  adorn- 
ments of  the  city,  and  great  is  the  festal  cheer 
while  many  nobles  and  knights  and  foreign  lords 
come  every  year  from  all  the  countries  round 
to  see  the  beauty  and  magnificence  of  the  feast, 
till  in  that  place  there  is  such  a  concourse  of 
folk  that  it  seems  incredible,  what  with  foreigners 
and  what  with  citizens,  so  that  any  one  who 
did  not  see  it  would  never  be  able  to  believe 
or  even  imagine  it.  Then  at  the  sound  of  three 
strokes  on  the  great  bell  of  the  Palazzo  de' 
Signori,  the  coursers  all  ready  for  the  race  are 
set  to  run,  while  up  aloft  on  the  tower  one  can 
see  by  the  insignia  of  the  riders  that  are  there 
hung  up,  which  horse  belongs  to  each,  for  the 
horses  are  brought  from  all  parts  of  Italy,  the 
most  admired  Barbary  coursers  in  the  world — 
and  he  who  is  first  to  reach  the  Palio,  his  prize 
it  remains.  Now  the  Palio  itself  is  borne  aloft 
on  a  triumphal  car  with  four  wheels  adorned 
with  four  sculptured  lions  that  seem  alive,  one 
for  each  corner  of  the  car,  and  the  car  is  drawn 
by  two  horses  whose  trappings  are  emblazoned 
with  the  arms  of  the  Commune,  and  are  ridden 
by  two  youths  who  guide  them.  But  the  Palio 
itself  is  very  great  and  rich,  woven  of  crimson 
velvet,  and  is  in  two  parts  with  a  band  of  gold 
a  palm  broad,  lined  with  minever  and  bordered 
with  ermine,  and  fringed  with  silk  and  fine  gold. 


124  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

so  that  it  costs  in  all  300  florins  or  more,  but 
since  for  some  time  back  it  has  been  woven 
from  top  to  bottom  of  finest  gold  there  are 
spent  on  it  600  florins  or  more.  And  I  must 
not  omit  to  say  that  all  the  great  Piazza  of 
San  Giovanni  and  part  of  the  street  is  covered 
with  canopies  of  azure  embroidered  with  golden 
lilies.' 

§61.  The  artistic  outcome  of  the  brilliant  festal  life 
of  medieval  Italy. 

Such  was  then  the  picturesque  and  brilliant 
festal  life  that  was  so  marked  a  feature  both  of 
ancient  Greece  and  medieval  Italy.  While  under 
Hellenic  skies  the  human  form,  graceful,  vigorous, 
set  off  not  concealed  by  dress,  offered  on  every 
side  models  of  manly  and  feminine  beauty,  along 
the  streets  of  the  Italian  city  a  brilliant  throng  of 
gaily-robed  personages  flashed  in  swift  movement 
before  the  eye,  while  the  scented  air  was  full  of 
song  and  trumpet  peal  and  of  the  clang  of  bells. 

§62.  The  difference  between  the  artistic  expression  of 
the  Greeks  and  Italians. 

The  Florentine  painter  felt  the  spell  of  these 
surroundings,  but  he  conceived  and  represented 
his  world  in  a  spirit  different  from  that  of  the 
Greek.  The  latter,  as  we  have  seen,  concentrated 
upon  the  single  pregnant  type  all  the  interest  of 
his  work,  but  the  Italian  fed  his  imagination  with 
gala  sights  and  sounds,  till  before  it  there  opened 
out  large  scenes  crowded  with  figures  and  full  of 
the  most  varied  incidents  and  accessories.     The 


GREEK  AND   FLORENTINE   ART  125 

difference  between  the  single  figures  of  Hellenic 
art  and  the  extensive  scenes  of  the  medieval 
painters,  corresponds  to  the  difference  between 
the  characteristics  of  the  plastic  and  the  graphic 
arts.  But  the  selection  of  these  arts  as  appro- 
priate media  of  artistic  expression  rests  upon 
distinctions  in  national  character  and  in  religion. 
The  Greeks  were  sculptors  because  they  possessed 
great  intellectual  depth  and  a  strong  predilection 
for  definiteness  of  form.  The  Florentines  were  in 
the  main  painters  ^  because  their  intelligence  was 
keen  rather  than  profound,  their  interest  almost 
morbidly  restless  in  all  features  of  the  life  about 
them.  The  characteristics  of  Greek  and  medieval 
religion  were  also  factors  of  moment.  In  each  there 
was  a  lofty  conception  of  the  Divine  Personality, 
and,  besides  this,  a  recognition  of  various  sub- 
sidiary beings — in  Greece,  gods,  heroes,  nymphs, 
etc. ;  in  the  medieval  world,  saints  and  angels. 
Where  Greek  religion  broke  down  was  in  the  fact 
that  it  provided  so  little  for  the  gods  to  do.  They 
could  engage  with  dignity  in  the  great  contest  of 
Hellas  against  the  non- Hellenic,  but  this,  as  we 
have  seen,  did  not  admit  of  much  variety  in  pre- 
sentation. So  far  as  their  private  performances 
and  adventures  went,  these  were  as  a  rule  of  the 
most  silly  or  disreputable  kind,  and  excited  the 

^  There  was  of  course  Greek  painting  just  as  there  was  Florentine 
sculpture.  The  latter  has  been  preserved  to  us  but  does  not  repre- 
sent so  great  an  artistic  effort  as  the  contemporary  painting.  Greek 
pictures,  on  the  other  hand,  have  almost  entirely  perished.  We 
know  that  the  ancients  themselves  valued  them  even  more  than  their 
statuary,  but  the  latter  was  a  far  more  efficient  vehicle  of  artistic 
expression. 


126  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

indignation  of  the  more  earnest  thinkers  of  the 
people.^  Archaic  art  represented  these  freely,  but 
when  sculpture  came  to  its  maturity,  they  were 
discarded  as  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  the 
divine  nature,  which  monumental  statuary  strove 
ever  to  exalt.  Thus  on  the  ancient  works  of 
decorative  art  known  as  the  Chest  of  Cypselus 
and  the  Throne  of  Apollo  at  Amyclae  described 
by  Pausanias,2  there  were  depicted  all  sorts  of 
picturesque  incidents  of  mythology  which  never 
occur  in  the  monumental  sculpture  of  the  great 
period.  There  the  divine  beings  are  represented 
either  in  the  one  great  contest  or  else  in  the 
perfect  calm  that  comes  when  all  strife  is  lulled. 
Such  was  the  ideal  of  the  divine  nature  conveyed 
by  a  characteristic  passage  in  Aristotle's  Nicoma- 
chean  Ethicsf  as  that  of  a  Being  enshrined  in 
absolute  perfection,  needing  nothing,  doing 
nothing,  and  active  only  in  a  certain  '  energy 
of  contemplation.'  According  to  the  Christian 
scheme,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Divine  Personality 
only  truly  revealed  itself  in  movement  and  action, 
and  these  touched  human  life  at  every  point.  A 
divine  narrative:,  not  the  Divine  Personality  in 
repose,  was  the  theme  of  the  Christian  artist,  and 
all  the  actions  of  the  subsidiary  beings  were  in 
accord  with  the  one  typical  narrative,  and  so 
became    worthy  subjects   for  the   highest   artistic 

^  The  philosopher  Xenophanes  remarked  that  the  poets  made  the 
gods  indulge  in  all  the  actions  which  men  regarded  as  most  disgrace- 
ful, in  theft,  adultery  and  fraud. — Ritter  and  Preller,  Hist.  Phil. 
Gr.  et  Rom.  §  132. 

^  Descript.  Grades,  v.  17,  5  and  iii.  18,  9.  =*x.  8,  7. 


I 


g  THE   SCENIC   PICTURE  127 

treatment.  All  that  Saints  and  Angels  did  was 
in  harmony  with  the  recognized  ideals  of  conduct, 
and  in  Christian  mythology  the  picturesque  was 
always  moral,  while  it  was  seldom  so  in  Greek. 

§63.  The  large  Scenic  Picture;  how  it  was  conceived 
and  wrought. 

Hence  both  the  characteristics  of  medieval 
religion,  and  the  general  view  of  human  life 
current  in  the  Italian  cities,  made  for  the  adop- 
tion of  the  large  scenic  picture,  rather  than  the* 
single  sculptured  form,  as  the  most  suitable  vehicle 
of  artistic  expression.  These  scenes  were  each 
conceived  of  as  a  whole,  not  after  Hellenic  fashion 
as  a  collection  of  more  or  less  isolated  groups,  but 
they  were  treated  only  in  their  broad  external 
aspects  without  much  concentration  of  feeling  or 
searching  into  nature's  more  recondite  beauties, 
and  were  fixed  as  it  were  in  a  single  plane.  Of 
depth  and  distance  or  effects  of  light  and  shade 
the  Florentine  was  careless,  and  would  not  break 
for  these  his  serene  and  even  delineation.  The 
technical  traditions  of  his  art  came  in  this  matter 
to  his  aid.  The  fresco  painting  he  practised  was 
a  well-established  form  of  wall  decoration  inherited 
by  him  from  his  classical  forerunners,  and  as  such 
it  invited  to  a  flat  treatment  of  the  picture,  and  to 
rapid  unlaboured  handling.  It  was  moreover  a 
handicraft  pursued  upon  a  workshop  system,  and 
this  implied  an  assured  technique  advancing  from 
the  inception  to  the  completion  of  a  work  by  well- 
understood  stages ;  division  of  labour  through 
which   these  different  stages   could   be  portioned 


128  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

out  among  assistants  of  varying  gifts  or  education, 
and  uniform  success  within  the  recognized  limits 
of  the  practice  of  the  times.  Such  a  system  did 
not  specially  stimulate  individual  genius,  but  it 
established  a  school  and  secured  thereby  an  ex- 
traordinarily high  level  of  work  throughout  the 
artistic  community. 

Let  us  first  of  all  transport  ourselves  in  thought 
back  to  the  Florence  of  the  early  Renaissance,  and 
by  watching  the  painter  at  his  work,  strive  to  under- 
stand the  spirit — so  unlike  that  of  the  modern  artist 
—in  which  this  work  was  conceived  and  executed.^ 

§  64.  The  Frescoists  of  the  fifteenth  century ;  their 
character,  surroundings  and  work. 

The  social  position  and  daily  habits  of  these 
artist-craftsmen  are  illustrated  by  numberless  anec- 
dotes and  incidental  notices  in  the  books  of  the 
time,  too  numerous  to  quote.  We  can  look  in 
at  them  through  the  open  doors  of  their  work- 

^  The  following  account  is  drawn  from  various  sources  of  informa- 
tion which  are  indicated  in  the  footnotes.  The  practice  it  describes 
is  that  of  the  frescoist  of  the  fifteenth  century  who  belonged,  like 
Ghirlandajo,  to  the  old  school,  yet  recognized  the  advances  which 
had  been  made  in  the  ancient  technique  of  mural  painting.  The 
operations  of  the  painter  in  fresco  and  in  tempera  are  described  fully 
in  the  treatise  on  Painting  by  Cennino  Cennini,  who  was  a  follower 
of  the  school  established  by  Giotto  in  the  early  fourteenth  century. 
His  work,  written  about  a  century  after  Giotto's  death,  has  been 
translated  and  annotated  as  the  first  volume  of  the  invaluable 
QuellenschriftenfiirKunstgeschichte  und  Kunsttechnik  des  Mittelalters 
und  der  Renaissance^  Wien,  1 871,  etc.  Subsequent  notices  of  a 
technical  kind  in  Vasari  and  elsewhere  enable  us  to  see  how  an 
artist  of  the  fifteenth  century  would  extend  the  somewhat  primitive 
practice  described  by  the  Giottesque,  while  still  keeping  on  the  old 
lines. 


A   FLORENTINE   WORKSHOP  129 

shops,  and  can  note  how  simple  was  their  dress^ 
and  fare,^  how  careless  they  were  of  externals, 
how  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  their  inspiring 
craft.  We  can  visit  them  as  they  labour  at  home 
among  their  apprentices,  or  follow  them  to  the 
chapels  which  they  clothe  with  frescoes.  We 
know  them  as  men  of  shrewdness  and  humour^ 
delighting  in  good  cheer  and  festive  talk  after  the 
day's  work  is  done.'^  Unassuming  in  manner  but 
able  to  preserve  their  frankness  and  their  wit  in 
the  presence  of  the  great,^  they  are  conscious  of 
their  own  worth  but  fully  satisfied  with  the  ex- 
ternal conditions  under  which  they  had  been 
brought  up — conditions  which,  however  unlike 
those  surrounding  the  artist  of  the  sixteenth 
century  or  of  more  modern  days,  were  extremely 
healthful  to  the  particular  form  of  art  they  prac- 
tised. 

§  65.  Interior  of  a  Florentine  workshop. 

We  are  in  the  quarter  of  the  painters^  in  the  Flor- 
ence of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  stop  before  a  door 
over  which  swings  the  sign  of  the  guild  of  the 
Speziali^  figuring  the  Madonna  and  Child  upon  a 

^Vespasiano  da  Bisticci,  Viia  di  Cosimo  de*  Media  (about 
Donatello). 

^Vasari,  ed.  Milanesi,  11.  p.  398,  Vita  di  Donato. 

^  Such  was  especially  the  character  of  Giotto,  of  whom  many 
anecdotes  were  current.  See  his  life  by  Vasari.  Boccaccio,  Giorn. 
vi.  Nov.  5.     Sacchetti,  Nov.  75,  etc. 

''Sacchetti,  Nov.  136.  'Vasari,  i.  p.  390,  Vita  di  Giotto. 

^  As  early  as  1269  a  legal  document  mentions  a  certain  residence 
at  Florence  as  situated  'inter  dipin tores.' — Vasari,  i.  p.  265. 

Gaye,  Carteggio,  11.  39,  quotes  documents  of  the  fourteenth 
century,   showing   the  inclusion   of  painters  in   the  guild   of  the 

I 


I30  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

ground  of  white.  Within  is  a  workshop  long  and 
large  communicating  by  a  door  at  the  further  end 
with  the  master's  own  house,^  and  already,  though  it 
is  early  morning,  the  scene  is  a  busy  one.  On  tables 
against  the  wall  or  on  easels  are  arranged  sundry 
panels  and  carved  crucifixes  in  progress,  and  a 
dozen  apprentices  or  assistants  are  engaged  on 
various  stages  of  the  work.  Some  make  a 
beginning  by  smoothing  and  clamping  together 
panels  of  poplar  wood  and  covering  them  with 
linen  cloth,  over  which  is  spread  the  smooth  white 
gesso  painting-ground ;  others  model  in  relief  in 
gesso,  with  incrustations  in  costly  stones,  the 
crowns  and  ornaments  of  the  saints  already 
sketched  in  with  charcoal  by  the  master's  hand.^ 
A  finished  crucifix  yonder  is  having  its  ground 
gilded,  the  surface  having  been  previously  stamped 
with  a  small  diaper  pattern  while  the  gesso  was 
still  wet ;  and  hard  by  an  assistant  skilled  in 
carving  is  at  work  on  an  elaborate  Gothic  frame 
for  a  tempera  panel  which  has  just  been  carefully 
laid  in  by  one  of  the  older  apprentices.  Beside 
the  door  some  boys,  beginning  their  artistic  career, 
are  rubbing  down  on  a  stone  with  pure  water  the 
fresco  pigments — brown,  red  and  yellow  earths, 
with  lime  for  the  white,^ — the  precious  ultramarine 
blue,  for  the  use  of  which  there  is  always  a  special 

*  Speziali '  or  Apothecaries,  probably  on  account  of  their  use  of  pig- 
ments classed  as  *  drugs.* 

^Sacchetti,  Nov.  84. 

^Cennino  Cennini,  Buck  von  der  Kunst^  Wien,  187 1,  c.  113  ft. 

^  Metallic  whites,  such  as  those  made  from  lead  or  zinc,  do  not 
serve  for  fresco.  Cennino  gives  a  receipt  for  the  preparation  of 
lime- white,  *  bianco- Sangiovanni,'  in  his  58th  chapter. 


MASTER  AND   APPRENTICES  131 

contract,  being  kept  under  lock  and  key.  Further 
on,  more  experienced  hands  are  mixing  the  finely- 
ground  tints  to  the  consistency  of  cream,  and  set- 
ting them  aside  in  little  jars  ready  for  the  master- 
frescoist's  use.  The  master  will  paint  to-day  at 
the  Franciscan  convent,  in  the  votive  chapel  of 
the  great  family  whose  ancestral  palace,  barred 
and  towered,  overhangs  his  house  and  workshop, 
and  is  to  have  with  him  as  aids  four  of  the  most 
advanced  apprentices.  These  meanwhile  as  they 
wait  the  maestro's  appearance  are  discussing  that 
absorbing  topic  of  interest  for  Florentines,  the 
forthcoming  Carnival,  at  which  the  different 
corporations  of  the  city  are  to  contribute  fresh 
and  splendid  pageants.  A  hundred  names  are  in 
the  air — names  of  ancient  Romans  and  of  Chris- 
tian Saints,  names  of  Virtues  and  Graces  and 
Personifications  from  mythology,  or  from  sacred 
legend.  Processions  and  groups  of  these  are 
sketched  out ;  pageants  lately  seen  by  travelled 
assistants  in  other  cities  are  described  ;  for  each 
figure  the  appropriate  costume  and  head-dress 
and  attributes  are  argued  over,  the  older  youths 
showing  considerable  acquaintance  both  with 
Scripture  and  with  legend,  gained  for  the  most 
part  in  conversation  with  intelligent  clerics 
during  the  progress  of  mural  decoration  in  the 
churches. 

All  conversation  is  now  checked  as  the  master 
enters  from  his  house,  clad  as  for  work  in  hose 
and  belted  doublet. 

He  holds  a  roll  of  cartoons  in  his  hand  and 
signs  to   an   apprentice  to   come  forward  with  a 


132  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

plasterer's  journeyman  who  has  been  awaiting  his 
pleasure.  The  roll  when  displayed  shows  a 
coloured  study  for  the  mural  composition  on 
which  he  is  engaged,  and  pointing  out  to  his 
assistant  and  to  the  plasterer  that  portion  of  the 
work  he  has  laid  out  for  execution  on  that  par- 
ticular day,  he  sends  them  forward  to  the  chapel 
to  spread  over  the  corresponding  part  of  the  wall 
the  fresh  coat  of  smooth  plaster,  or  intonaco,  on 
which  the  painting  will  be  carried  out.  With 
them  proceed  other  chosen  assistants  carrying 
the  jars  of  paint,  the  brushes  and  sponges,  and 
a  heavy  roll  of  cartoons,  over  which  the  master  is 
accustomed  to  spend  no  inconsiderable  portion  of 
the  night.  Before  he  can  himself  follow  them  he 
must  go  the  round  of  the  shop  and  give  each 
apprentice  or  journeyman  his  task  for  the  day.  If 
he  be  of  the  temper  of  Domenico  Bigordi  called 
Ghirlandajo,  who  insisted  on  his  apprentices  ac- 
cepting every  commission  that  came  to  the  shop, 
were  it  but  the  painting  of  hoops  for  ladies' 
baskets,^  these  tasks  might  be  varied  enough. 
There  are,  let  us  suppose,  certain  shields  to  be 
emblazoned  with  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
Adimari.  The  nuns  of  Sta.  Barbara,  outside  the 
Porta  San  Friano,  have  vowed  a  procession  to  a 
neighbouring  shrine,  and  need  a  banner  painted 
with  the  figure  of  the  saint  beside  her  tower,  to 
be  borne  before  the  abbess  at  its  head.  The 
wedding  chest,  for  the  nuptials  of  Ursula  the 
fair  daughter  of  Ser  Arnolfini  the  notary  of  San 
Felice,  has  been  brought  in  from  the  shop  of  Dello 

1  Vasari,  III.  p.  269,  Vita  di  Ghirlandajo. 


THE   VOTIVE   CHAPEL  133 

di  Niccolo  the  sculptor,  who  has  carved  the  Cupids 
holding  the  medallions  on  the  sides,  and  these  have 
now  to  be  respectively  gilded  and  painted  with  the 
story  of  the  lady's  patron  saint.  Old  Bertoluccio 
the  flesher  from  the  Mercato  Vecchio  hard  by,  needs 
a  new  sign-board  over  his  booth,  and  has  left  the 
old  one  for  a  pattern  late  last  night  in  the  hands 
of  a  new  apprentice,  whose  lofty  ideas  of  his  art 
were  somewhat  scandalized  by  so  paltry  a  com- 
mission. These  new  tasks  are  at  once  portioned 
out  among  the  journeymen  according  to  their 
several  capacities  and  grades  of  training.  A  word 
of  direction  suffices  for  one,  while  another  receives 
a  rough  sketch  in  charcoal  for  his  guidance. 
Work  in  progress  is  then  reviewed  and  criticized, 
and  at  last,  donning  his  cloak  and  drawing  the 
hood  of  it  over  his  head,  after  signing  to  his 
favourite  pupil  to  attend  him,  the  master  leaves 
the  shop  and  wends  his  way  to  the  neighbouring 
convent  church. 

§  66.  How  the  Votive  Chapel  was  painted. 

Let  us  glance  in  there  at  the  votive  chapel  a 
little  later  in  the  morning  and  see  him  at  his  task. 
At  the  side  against  the  northern  wall  has  been 
erected  a  scaffold,  and  on  it  are  busy  two  of  the 
apprentices.  Against  the  space  of  freshly- laid 
intonaco  provided  for  the  day's  work,  they  have 
nailed  up  a  cartoon,  on  which  are  drawn  out  at  full 
size  the  figures,  architecture  and  accessories  des- 
tined to  fill  it.  They  pass  over  the  outlines  with  a 
blunt-pointed  stylus  of  iron,  dinting  the  paper  so  as 
to  impress  on  the  yielding  plaster  a  line  sufficient 


134  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

to  guide  the  painter  in  his  work.^  A  small 
coloured  sketch  of  the  whole  composition  has 
been  given  out  of  the  roll  to  a  third,  who  is 
specially  skilled  in  appreciation  of  colour,  and 
he  is  mixing  the  tints  required  for  the  day, 
taking  a  dark,  light  and  middle  tint  for  each 
differently  coloured  robe,^  for  the  fair  flesh  of 
the  ladies  and  children  or  the  tanned  skin  of  the 
pagan  executioner,  for  the  architecture  and  back- 
ground. These  tints  he  will  place  in  little  pots 
ready  to  the  master's  hand  when  he  begins  to  paint. 

§  67.  A  Cycle  of  Fresco-paintings. 

Meanwhile  the  master  himself  has  not  yet  set 
his  hand  to  the  work,  but  is  seated  on  one  of  the 
carved  benches  lining  the  walls,  in  deep  conversa- 
tion with  the  Prior  of  the  Convent  over  the 
sketches  for  the  whole  work,  which  lie  unrolled 
before  them  on  the  floor.  The  pictures  are 
designed  to  celebrate  the  entry  into  the  Franciscan 
Order  of  a  younger  scion  of  the  noble  family,  a 
youth  of  equal  learning  and  ambition  and  full  of 
zeal  for  the  Order.  The  subjects  are  drawn  from 
a  Franciscan  legend  and  deal  with  the  adventures 
of  a  friar  and  his  companions  at  the  court  of  the 
Paynim   Saracens.      They  are   displayed   on   the 

^  MacLehose  and  Baldwin  Brown,  Vasari  on  Technique^  London, 
1907,  p.  212  f.  The  use  of  the  full-sized  cartoon  was  a  later  improve- 
ment, not  known  to  Cennino,  who  directs  the  painter  to  square  out 
his  design  on  the  wall  from  a  small  sketch.  In  other  points  of 
fresco  practice  his  precepts  differ  from  the  description  given  here, 
which  probably  represents  pretty  accurately  the  custom  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  ^  Cennino,  c.  71. 


A  CYCLE   OF   FRESCOES  135 

three  walls  of  the  chapel  excluding  the  east,  and 
each  one  of  the  three  is  subdivided  into  sym- 
metrical groups  forming  in  each  case  a  centre  and 
two  wings.  On  the  first  wall,  on  the  one  wing  of 
the  picture,  a  youth  is  shown  deliberating  whether 
he  shall  take  the  vows,  while  in  the  centre  is  seen 
his  solemn  reception  into  the  Order,  and  on  the 
other  wing  he  appears  departing  with  companions 
for  a  missionary  journey  into  Asia.  On  the 
second  or  western  wall  there  is  again  a  composi- 
tion of  a  threefold  order.  On  the  one  side  the 
faithful  band  is  engaged  in  preaching  to  the 
turbaned  Saracens,  but  soldiers  interrupt  the 
conventicle  and  seem  prepared  to  seize  upon 
the  unlicensed  missionaries.  In  the  centre  is 
represented  the  scourging  of  the  friars  in  presence 
of  the  Soldan  himself  before  whom  they  have 
been  haled.  The  monarch  sits  enthroned  aloft 
in  the  midst  of  his  attendants  whose  robes  and 
accoutrements  are  of  the  most  fanciful  kind,  while 
the  friars  are  seen  stripped  and  tied  to  a  tree 
amidst  a  crowd  of  eager  onlookers.  Then  in  the 
further  part  of  the  composition  the  sufferers  are  in 
the  hands  of  executioners  who  have  suspended 
them  on  trees,  but  the  leader  of  the  missionaries, 
the  hero  of  the  first  picture,  discourses  aloud  to 
the  people  from  the  gibbet  to  which  he  is  bound, 
and  his  words  evidently  produce  a  profound  sensa- 
tion on  some  women  in  the  crowd. 

The  third  wall  is  devoted  to  a  grand  scene  of 
the  attempted  decapitation  of  the  holy  men  by 
the  sword.  Some  heads  have  fallen  and  the 
bodies   lie   lifeless   on   the    ground,  while   others. 


136  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

among  them  the  youthful  leader,  are  kneeling  to 
await  the  blow.  Suddenly  there  arises  a  frightful 
storm  that  bursts  upon  the  multitude,  destroying 
the  executioners,  frightening  the  obdurate  and 
accomplishing  the  summary  conversion  of  the 
waverers.  The  surviving  friars  with  their  chief 
are  saved  and  set  to  work  to  baptize  their  con- 
verts. In  rendering  the  storm  the  painter  has 
taxed  all  the  resources  of  his  art,  and  has  filled 
the  scene  with  incidents  well  conceived  if  not 
perfectly  rendered.  Touches  of  life  are  there 
showing  keen  observation  and  a  desire  for  the 
most  telling  representation  of  nature  possible. 
As  the  black  storm-cloud  overshadows  the  scene, 
the  men  and  women  in  the  crowd  turn  up  their 
robes  over  their  heads  for  shelter ;  the  soldiers 
hold  up  their  bucklers  and  the  hail  is  seen  actually 
rebounding  from  the  surface  of  them.  The  wind 
catches  the  flowing  robes  of  the  orientals  ;  the 
trees  bend  before  the  blast ;  all  is  confusion  and 
terror.  In  the  centre  of  the  foreground  a  mounted 
executioner  has  fallen  under  his  horse  and  runs  it 
through  with  his  sword  in  the  act.  At  the 
extreme  right  hand  of  the  picture  and  fitly 
closing  the  series,  is  the  scene  where  the  surviving 
friars  under  their  leader  are  baptizing  the  folk 
converted  through  the  sudden  and  miraculous 
hurricane.^ 

^  These  scenes  are  partly  taken  from  a  series  by  Ambrogio 
Lorenzetti  of  Siena,  described  by  Ghiberti  in  his  second  Com- 
mentary. See  Vasari,  ed.  Le  Monnier,  Firenze,  1846,  I.  p.  xxiii. 
Fragments  of  the  frescoes  still  exist  and  are  referred  to  by  Crowe 
and  Cavalcaselle  in  their  notice  of  the  Lorenzetti,  in  the  History  of 
Painting  in  Italy^  Lond.  1864,  il.  p.  134. 


THE   CARTOONS  137 

§  68.  Consultation  over  Cartoons. 
Such  are  the  main  features  of  the  design,  but 
only  a  portion  is  as  yet  drawn  out  to  full  size. 
The  third  wall  has  been  first  attacked  and  some 
of  the  figures  in  the  scene  of  decapitation  are 
already  painted  in  their  place.  Full-sized  cartoons 
for  most  of  the  rest  have  been  squared  out  from 
the  small  studies,  and  it  is  the  cartoon  for  one  of 
the  prostrate  figures  and  for  an  executioner  that 
the  apprentices  are  at  this  very  moment  tracing 
through  upon  the  wet  plaster  ready  for  the 
master-painter's  hand.  The  other  scenes  are 
only  in  the  form  of  small  studies,  and  it  is  these 
that  the  master  is  now  discussing  with  the  Prior. 
The  latter,  a  genial  and  cultured  soul,  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  the  early  Renaissance,  is  a  keen 
lover  of  art  and  has  some  shrewd  hints  to  offer. 
He  finds  fault  with  the  bareness  of  the  first 
composition  which  contains  no  female  figure,  and 
suggests  that  the  saintly  patroness  of  the  youthful 
votary — let  us  suppose  her  Sta.  Caterina — should 
be  shown  beside  him  at  the  first  as  directing  his 
choice,  and  then  again  as  leading  him  forth  with 
his  companions  on  his  missionary  expedition. 
For  a  model  one  need  not  look  further  than  to 
the  fair  and  pious  sister  of  the  new-made  friar, 
one  of  the  choice  flowers  of  Florentine  beauty, 
who  has  promised  with  her  friends  that  very 
morning  to  visit  the  chapel.  Then  the  scourging 
scene  wants  more  life  and  action — the  Prior 
knows  something  of  the  details  of  such  a  per- 
formance. Let  there  be  two  executioners  waiting 
at  rest  while  two  others  ply  the  lash,  and  let  the 


138  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

violence  of  their  exertions  be  shown  by  sweating 
foreheads  and  matted  hair.  There  is  a  gardener 
of  the  Convent  that  shall  serve  as  a  model,  while 
for  the  faces  of  the  friars  throughout,  the  painter 
shall  have  his  pick  of  the  brethren,  that  all  may 
be  as  like  life  as  possible. 

§  69.  A  visit  from  the  Elite  of  the  city. 

Further  conversation  is  interrupted  by  the 
entry  of  the  expected  visitors,  a  gaily  dressed 
company,  escorted  by  the  sacristan.  Here  is  the 
winsome  sister  of  the  devotee,  daughter  of  the 
noble  family  that  owns  the  chapel,  and  displays 
its  arms  carved  and  emblazoned  on  the  woodwork 
of  its  fittings.  She  is  not  alone,  however,  and 
comes  with  friends  eager  for  some  business  in 
hand  which  they  have  been  discussing  as  they 
walked  along.  Among  them  is  the  famous 
scholar,  highly  esteemed  in  humanistic  circles, 
whose  lectures  on  Greek  literature  are  attended 
by  the  elite  of  the  aristocratic  circles  of  the  city. 
He  has  travelled  in  the  Levant,  and  as  all  the 
party  turn  with  eager  interest  to  look  at  the 
sketches  thus  displayed,  he  is  full  of  information 
as  to  curious  details  of  oriental  dress  and  manners 
which  will  help  the  frescoist  to  enliven  his  scenes 
in  Moslem  land.  The  Soldan,  for  example,  must 
not  be  seated  western  fashion  on  his  throne,  but 
squat  there  cross-legged. 

The  master,  fully  as  much  at  his  ease  in  the 
company  of  the  noble  and  learned  as  in  his  own 
workshop,  lends  courteous  attention  to  all  that  is 
suggested,  and  then  turning  to  the  lady,  asks  the 


A  CRITICAL  DISCUSSION  139 

favour  of  a  sitting  from  her  with  a  certain 
dignified  grace,  as  conscious  that  he  conferred  as 
well  as  received  an  honour.  She,  delighted  to 
descend  to  posterity  as  Sta.  Caterina,  at  once 
consents,  but  with  the  condition  that  he  will  lend 
his  aid  in  the  important  matter  of  a  grand  family 
pageant  at  the  Carnival  of  which  she  and  her 
friends  are  full.  How  shall  she  dress  for  the 
Saint  ?  Shall  she  wear  her  head-dress  of  pearls  ? 
Yes,  surely,  for  the  Saint  was  of  royal  birth.  If 
she  will  attend  an  instant  he  will  indicate  on  the 
sketch  how  her  figure  will  come  in.  Then  on  his 
tablets  he  makes  quick  note  of  her  figure  and 
carriage.  There  she  stands  a  little  apart  on  the 
pavement  before  the  altar,  like  Firenzuola's 
pattern  of  female  loveliness,  and  we  will  picture 
her  according  to  his  description — tall  and  slender 
of  form,  but  with  bust  largely  moulded  and  limbs 
firm  and  round  ;  the  head,  set  on  a  white  throat 
that  inclines  to  length,  is  crowned  above  with  soft 
yellow  hair  that  is  both  long  and  abundant ;  the 
eyebrows  are  darker  than  the  hair,  the  eyes  large 
and  shaded  by  dusky  lashes ;  above  the  rounded 
chin  the  mouth,  small  but  with  full  lower  lip, 
wears  a  smile  that  '  seems  as  a  sweet  message 
from  the  calm  and  tranquil  heart  within,'  while 
the  serenity  of  the  ample  forehead  completes  a 
picture  of  maiden  dignity  and  tenderness.^ 

§  70.  The  technical  processes  of  Fresco. 

But  now  the  assistants  who  have  been  busy  on 
the  north  wall  of  the  chapel  come  down  from  the 

^  Delia  Bellezza  delle  Donne,  in  Firenzuola's  Opcre^  Milano,  1S02. 


I40  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

scaffold  and  stand  waiting,  evidently  at  the  end  of 
their  work.  It  is  known  well  that  the  master 
never  paints  in  public,  and  the  gay  company,  led 
by  the  Prior  with  whom  they  are  on  friendliest 
footing,  now  take  their  leave,  regretting  that  they 
may  not  see  the  figures  grow  to  life  upon  the  wall 
under  the  sure  and  practised  hand  that  is  so  eager 
to  grasp  the  pencil.  We,  who  are  privileged  to 
remain,  can  now  note  that  the  apprentices  have 
not  only  transferred  the  cartoon  to  the  wall,  but 
have  also  laid  in  with  flat  middle  tints  according 
to  his  coloured  sketch  the  backgrounds  of  the 
figures  and  also  the  draperies.  Still  visible  how- 
ever are  the  indented  outlines  indicating  the 
direction  of  the  folds,  the  contours  and  inner 
markings  of  the  flesh  parts  and  the  detail  of 
accessories.  As  he  prepares  to  take  up  the 
brushes  he  indicates  to  the  others  the  work  they 
can  do  on  the  cartoons,  squaring  up  to  full  size 
from  his  own  studies,  and  drawing  in  the  altera- 
tions he  has  indicated,  ready  for  him  to  retouch  at 
home  in  the  evening.  One  he  keeps  by  him  to 
hand  him  the  pots  of  colour  as  needed  to  replenish 
his  palette,  or  with  a  brush  to  dash  water  against 
the  surface  of  the  wall  where  the  plaster  may  be 
disposed  to  dry  too  rapidly,  for  it  is  essential  to 
the  fresco-process  that  colour  and  ground  should 
dry  together. 

The  fresco-process  varied  to  some  extent  at 
different  periods  of  Italian  painting,  but  its 
essential  principles  remained  unchanged,  and  were 
indeed  the  same  as  those  which  guided  the  painter 
of  the  mural  frescoes  found  at  Pompeii  or  Rome. 


THE   FRESCO   PROCESS  141 

The  process  stands  quite  by  itself.  In  all  other 
processes — tempera,  wax,  oil,  waterglass — some 
binding  material  is  mixed  with  the  pigment  which 
fixes  it  mechanically  to  the  ground.  Fresco,  on 
the  other  hand,  depends  upon  a  chemical  process 
by  which  the  same  result  is  secured  without  any 
such  binding  material,  the  pigments  being  simply 
ground  down  and  mingled  with  pure  water. 
These  are  laid  on  to  the  wet  plaster,  and  modern 
investigation  shows  that  they  are  fixed  there  by 
the  formation,  in  them  and  in  the  ground  to  which 
they  adhere,  of  the  chemical  compound,  carbonate 
of  lime.  The  colours  do  not,  as  is  sometimes 
supposed,  sink  into  the  plaster.  They  remain 
always  on  the  surface  but  are  held  firm  in  the 
composition  just  mentioned,  which  acts  as  a 
transparent  skin  over  the  stucco.  The  whole 
work  then,  ground  and  colouring  together,  dries  as 
one  mass  and  no  further  painting  '  a  fresco '  is 
possible  upon  it.  When  it  is  necessary  to  retouch 
after  the  wall  is  dry,  in  order  to  clear  up  details  or 
enforce  shadows,  the  pigment  must  be  applied  *  a 
tempera,'  that  is  with  a  certain  admixture  of 
binding  material  such  as  glue  or  white  of  q^^. 
These  after-touches  lack  the  permanence  of  the 
true  fresco  (buonfresco)  as  they  can  be  washed  off 
the  wall,  and  having  been  laid  on  a  dry  surface  by 
a  kind  of  hatching  process  they  are  harsh  and 
*  liney.'  It  is  often  possible  to  distinguish  in  good 
large  scale  photographs  the  difference  between  the 
broad  soft  touches  of  the  frescoist  laid  on  while 
the  ground  was  wet,  and  the  hard  dry  hatchings  of 
the  next  day's  retouching.      Hence  it  was  a  great 


142  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

object  to  get  as  much  done  as  possible  in  the  one 
day  upon  the  wet  plaster,  and  the  only  real 
difference  between  the  fresco  practice  of  the 
mature  age  of  Italian  art  described  to  us  by 
Vasari,  and  that  of  the  imperfect  masters  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  was  that  the  latter  were  not 
able  to  do  so  much  upon  the  wet  plaster  and  had 
to  rely  more  on  retouching  *  a  secco.'  The  state- 
ment in  Professor  Church's  recent  Chemistry  of 
Paints  and  Painting  to  the  effect  that  '  true  fresco 
did  not  come  into  use  until  the  close  of  the  four- 
teenth century,'  ^  is  misleading.  The  fresco 
process  was  well  understood  in  classical  times ; 
Vitruvius  fully  describes  it,^  while  investigations  of 
the  ancient  mural  paintings  at  Pompeii  have 
shown  that  these  are  executed  on  the  wet  plaster 
in  the  buon fresco  style.^  It  was  carried  on  at 
Byzantium  through  the  middle  ages,  and  there  is 
no  reason  to  imagine  that  the  secret  of  it  would 
be  lost  in  medieval  Italy.  Cennino  devotes  the 
67th  chapter  of  his  Trattato  to  a  description  of 
the  process,  and  expressly  tells  the  readers  that 
the  technical  method  he  recommends  is  that 
traditional  in  the  school  of  Giotto.  Moreover  he 
is  fully  alive  to  the  importance  of  doing  as  much 
as  possible  while  the  ground  is  wet,  *  for  to  paint 
on  the  fresh,  that  is  a  fixed  portion  on  each  day, 
is  the  best  and  most  permanent  way  of  laying  on 
the  colour,  and  the  pleasantest  method  of  paint- 

*  London,  1890,  p.  243. 
^  De  Architectural  vii.  3. 

^Otto  Donner,  in  Helbig,   Wandgemdlde  der  .   .  .  Stddte  Com- 
paniensy  Leipzig,  1868.     See  also  Vasari  on  Technique^  p.  287  f. 


TECHNICALITIES   OF  THE  WORK  143 

ing.'^  Doubtless  the  Giottesques  had  not  the 
skill  to  do  all  they  would  have  liked  on  the  first 
day,  but  they  perfectly  understood  what  this 
buonfresco  implied.  Vasari  in  some  interesting 
remarks  laudatory  of  wall-painting  in  his  *  Intro- 
duction/^  insists  again  and  again  on  the  importance 
of  avoiding  retouching  when  the  work  is  dry — 
*  therefore  let  those  who  seek  to  work  upon  the 
wall,  paint  with  a  manly  touch  upon  the  fresh 
plaster,  and  avoid  returning  to  it  when  it  is  dry 
(non  ritocchino  a  secco).'  It  is  doubtful  however 
if  this  ideal  was  ever  quite  attained  to  and  retouch- 
ing entirely  dispensed  with.  In  any  case  the 
work  needed  a  sure  and  rapid  hand,  for  the  spaces 
to  be  covered  were  generally  large,  and  it  would 
not  have  paid  the  artist  to  linger  too  long  over 
any  one  portion.  The  actual  handling  of  the 
pigments  would  naturally  vary  somewhat  accord- 
ing to  the  individuality  of  the  painter,  but  a 
regular  routine  was  indispensable  for  securing 
rapidity  and  uniformity  of  practice.  Cennino 
prescribes  careful  and  distinct  outlining  of  every 
form,  which  would  ensure  clearness  of  effect. 
Each  colour  was  to  be  mixed  in  three  shades, 
dark,  middle  and  light,  and  the  use  of  these 
prepared  tints  would  result  in  fcreadth  and 
simplicity  admirably  in  keeping  with  the  decorative 
style. 

§71.  The  Master  at  work. 

We  may  accordingly  imagine  our  painter  set- 
ting to  work  somewhat  as  follows. 

*  Trattato,  c.  67. 

"^Vasari  on  Technique^  p.  221. 


144  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTER: 

First,  with  a  long  brush  of  squirrel's  hair  dipped 
in  red  ochre,  he  carefully  outlines  the  features  of 
the  figure  before  him,  drawing  on  his  imagination 
for  the  expression,  or  referring  to  a  sketch  book 
of  studies  from  nature  he  has  open  at  his  side. 
Where  a  bit  of  foreshortening  adds  a  special 
element  of  difficulty  he  sets  one  of  the  apprentices 
up  on  the  scaffolding  to  serve  as  a  temporary 
model.  So  full  a  body  of  tradition  has  come 
down  to  him  from  the  past  in  the  form  of  con- 
ventions in  the  treatment  of  the  nude  or  of 
drapery,  so  regularly  do  the  stages  in  the  technical 
execution  follow  each  other,  that  the  work  pro- 
ceeds rapidly,  smoothly,  and  without  effort.  The 
shadows  under  the  brows,  below  the  nostrils,  and 
round  the  chin  are  laid  in  broadly  with  terra  verde, 
and  the  darkest  of  the  three  flesh  tints  is  then 
brought  down  to  and  fused  with  it  by  dexterous 
blending  of  the  wet  pigments  upon  a  surface 
which  preserves  their  dampness.  These  half-tones 
are  then  modelled  on  the  other  side  into  the  main 
tints  of  the  flesh.  White  may  then  be  used  in 
decided  touches  for  the  high  lights,  and  the  details 
of  the  eyes,  mouth,  and  other  features  are  put  in 
without  too  much  searching  after  accidents  of 
local  colour.  For  the  hair  the  three  tints  suffice,  the 
high  lights  again  following  with  white.  The  robes 
are  broadly  treated  ;  after  the  whole  has  been  laid 
in  previously  in  middle  tint  the  folds  are  marked 
out  in  their  deepest  shadows,  then  painted  up  with 
the  two  lighter  tints,  and  lastly  if  needful  touched 
with  white.  The  work  needs  to  be  deftly  touched, 
for  too  much  handling  of  one  spot  may  destroy 


ITS   GENERAL  EFFECT  145 

the  freshness  of  the  tints  and  even  rub  up  the 
plaster  ground.  It  is  not  necessary  (as  moderns 
have  sometimes  supposed)  to  put  touch  beside 
touch,  never  going  over  the  same  ground  again. 
So  long  as  the  pigments  and  the  surface 
are  wet,  the  tints  may  be  laid  one  over  the 
other  or  fused  at  will,  and  may  be  Moaded '  in 
some  parts  and  in  others  thinly  spread,  the  one 
essential  being  that  a  fresh  and  crisp  effect 
shall  not  be  lost. 

§  72.  A  critical  glance  at  his  achievement. 

So  the  day  wears  on  towards  eventide,  and  the 
appointed  space  of  wall,  spread  in  the  morning 
with  the  fresh  plaster  for  the  day's  work,  becomes 
gradually  covered  with  an  artistic  representation 
simple  and  unpretending,  but  highly  effective  in 
its  air  of  perfect  ease  and  naturalness,  its  suit- 
ability to  its  place  and  its  surroundings.  What 
would  please  most  the  eye  of  the  modern  artist 
would  be  the  breadth  of  the  decorative  effect,  the 
harmonious  and  never  too  intense  colouring,  the 
clearness  of  the  composition  and  arrangement  of 
well-balanced  groups.  The  qualities  most  de- 
lighted in  at  the  time,  those  which  we  may  be 
sure  would  chiefly  fill  with  emulation  the  minds  of 
the  youthful  apprentices,  would  be  the  animation 
of  the  scenes,  with  their  picturesque  life-like 
incidents,  the  portrait-like  character  in  the  heads, 
the  feats  of  foreshortening  which  show  observation 
and  boldness  beyond  the  common.  Such  as  it  is, 
the  work  at  any  rate  satisfies  up  to  a  certain 
point  the  master's  idea,  as  he  descends   from  the 

K 


146  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

scaffolding  and  scans  it  as  a  whole  with  critical 
glance,  while  the  assistants  prepare  for  departure. 
It  will  stand  ;  no  part  needs  to  be  obliterated, 
and  all  that  now  remains  is  to  pare  away  at  the 
edge  of  the  finished  work  the  surplus  plaster  still 
uncovered  with  pigment,  so  that  it  may  be  freshly 
laid  in  the  morning  for  the  morrow's  task.  As 
the  shadows  of  coming  night  begin  to  descend, 
the  apprentices  lock  the  chapel  door  and  turn 
homewards  through  the  silent  church. 


§  73.  Summary  of  the  foregoing  chapters. 

The  foregoing  three  chapters  have  been  occu- 
pied first  with  a  brief  notice  of  the  somewhat 
complicated  subject  of  the  primal  origins  of  art, 
and  next  with  the  illustration  of  the  main  theses 
of  the  first  part  of  the  book,  that  art  represents  an 
effort  of  the  human  spirit,  under  the  stimulus  of 
excitement,  to  externalize  itself  in  some  outward 
form  or  act,  the  resulting  activity  or  product  being 
always  controlled  by  a  principle  of  Order  that 
brings  it  ultimately  to  a  beautiful  result.  The 
modes  of  art  dealt  with  have  been  those  in  which 
it  is  most  easy  to  trace  the  connection  between 
popular  feeling,  intensified  by  the  social  action  and 
reaction  of  the  festival,  and  expression  in  artistic 
form.  The  most  universal,  because  the  easiest 
and  most  available,  media  of  artistic  expression 
are  personal  adornment  and  the  dance  and  song. 
That  which  each  individual  can  do  in  these  simple 
and  impromptu  modes  of  art,  will  be  accomplished 


SUMMARY  147 

by  the  community  at  large  in  some  general  act, 
and  this  takes  the  shape  of  the  erection,  adorn- 
ment and  use  of  the  festal  structure.  The  festal 
structure  made  imposing  and  durable  becomes  the 
architectural  monument,  and  round  this  the 
decorative  arts,  inspired  to  a  nobler  mission, 
throw  a  veil  of  significant  and  beautiful  devices, 
in  which  sculpture  and  painting  are  set  to  some 
of  their  earliest  tasks.  Meanwhile  the  dance, 
no  longer  merely  emotional  or  crudely  mimetic, 
becomes  expressive  of  ideas ;  it  is  seen  how  pose 
and  gesture  can  become  significant  as  well  as 
beautiful,  and  the  attempt  to  make  these  perma- 
nent leads  to  the  rapid  development  of  the  art  of 
sculpture.  In  Greece  the  popular  religion  made 
incessant  demands  for  service  from  the  arts,  and 
as  soon  as  sculpture  had  forced  the  marble  and 
bronze  to  express  character  and  thought,  religion 
called  for  the  creation  in  external  form  of  divine 
and  heroic  types.  In  no  very  different  spirit  did 
medieval  theology  press  the  sister  art  of  painting 
into  her  service,  and  set  it  to  reproduce  the  sacred 
subjects  so  dear  to  the  pious  hearts  of  the  people ; 
till  finally  painting,  taught  in  this  way  to  be  a 
mirror  of  human  life,  went  on  to  reflect  clearly 
and  copiously  all  the  gay  and  brilliant  life  of 
those  festal  scenes,  in  which  from  the  first  art  had 
found  its  most  congenial  atmosphere.  What- 
ever, in  a  word,  were  the  forms  of  artistic  expres- 
sion, they  came  straight  out  of  the  heart  of  the 
people  ;  and  from  the  flagstaff  of  the  rustic  feast 
to  the  solemn  temple  on  the  Acropolis,  from  the 
gaudily  dressed  doll  to  the  austere  deity  in  marble 


148  MEDIEVAL  FLORENCE  AND  HER  PAINTERS 

or  in  bronze,  from  the  civic  procession  to  the 
monumental  fresco  which  ennobled  and  fixed  it 
for  ever,  art  in  every  shape  was  the  child  of  the 
community  at  large. 

In  the  next  chapter  the  arts  must  be  dealt  with 
from  quite  another  point  of  view. 


PART    II 

THE   FORMAL  CONDITIONS   OF 
ARTISTIC   EXPRESSION 


CHAPTER   I 


SOME  ELEMENTS  OF  EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS 
OF  FORM 

§  74.  A  new  branch  of  the  subject ;  the  operation  in 
different  forms  of  Art  of  the  principle  of  *  Order' 

Up  to  this  point  the  various  forms  of  art  have 
been  dealt  with  as  modes  of  expression  or  action, 
in  which  both  the  individual  and  society,  under 
the  stimulus  of  pleasure,  quicken  their  sense  of 
personal  and  common  life  in  activities  that  are 
free  and  unconstrained,  but  at  the  same  time  of 
demonstrable  value  in  the  social  economy.  From 
the  point  of  view  we  have  hitherto  taken,  the 
particular  mode  of  expression,  whether  it  be  the 
physical  movement  of  the  dance,  the  imitative 
work  of  the  painter  and  sculptor,  or  the  construc- 
tion of  the  architect,  has  mattered  little,  for  the 
aim  has  been  to  exhibit  art  in  all  its  aspects  alike 
as  the  nursling  of  society,  the  necessary  outcome 
of  a  life  that  has  scope  for  ideal  desires  and  time 
to  work  for  their  fulfilment.  The  point  of  view 
must  now  be  changed  and  the  formal  differences 


IS2    EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

among  the  arts  become  the  subject  of  investiga- 
tion. The  following  discussion  may  not  have  the 
general  interest  of  what  has  gone  before,  but  the 
reader's  attention  is  claimed  for  it  with  all  the 
more  confidence,  since  it  forms  a  necessary  transi- 
tion to  the  after  treatment  in  separate  chapters  of 
the  three  great  Arts  of  Form. 

We  discovered  in  the  earliest  manifestations  of 
art  two  elements — one  an  impulse,  movement  or 
act,  often  some  form  of  '  play,'  which  supplies  the 
motive  power,  or  if  we  prefer  the  metaphor,  the 
raw  material  of  art ;  the  other  an  instinct  or 
principle  of  '  order '  or  '  arrangement '  that  may 
often  be  described  as  *  rhythm,'  in  accordance 
with  which  man  is  for  ever  moulding  this  material 
into  an  artistic  form.  We  pass  on  now  to  an 
analysis  of  this  artistic  form,  so  far  at  least  as  this 
can  be  accomplished  in  words.  It  needs  of  course 
hardly  to  be  said  that  such  analysis  of  what  may 
be  termed  the  artistic  element  in  the  work  of  art 
can  only  be  carried  out  in  a  somewhat  rough  and 
perfunctory  fashion.  It  would  be  impossible  in 
words,  even  were  they  used  with  the  finest  dis- 
crimination, to  match  the  subtlety  of  the  artistic 
alchemy  which  transforms  the  heap  of  quarried 
stone,  the  marble  block,  the  bare  coarse-grained 
canvas  and  little  heaps  of  coloured  earths,  into 
shapes  and  hues  of  majestic  power  or  bewitching 
grace.  All  that  can  be  attempted  here  is  to  deal 
broadly  with  certain  conditions  of  artistic  effect, 
applicable  to  all  the  arts  alike  or  especially  to 
Architecture,  Sculpture  and  Painting. 


THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  A   UNITY         153 

§  75.  Every  work  of  Art  must  present  itself  as  a 
Unity. 

The  first  operation  of  the  instinct  of  ORDER 
when  it  evolves  art  out  of  play,  is  to  secure  for  the 
artistic  product  a  certain  distinctness  of  general 
form.  It  is  the  first  essential  in  the  work  of  art 
that  it  should  present  itself  as  a  unity,  and  not  a 
mere  formless  mass  of  indefinite  extension.  The 
architectural  monument  obeys  this  law  of  which 
it  is  indeed  the  most  conspicuous  illustration,  and 
so  does  the  sculptured  statue  or  group  which  is 
always  more  than  a  mere  collection  of  figures, 
while  the  cabinet  picture  or  decorative  painting 
accepts  the  restraint  of  its  frame  or  the  limits  of 
the  panel  or  wall-space  apportioned  to  it.  Even 
in  the  drama  the  same  law  holds  good.  Only,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  part  an  art  of  form,  the  drama 
unfolds  itself  in  time  as  well  as  in  space  and 
cannot  be  visually  grasped  at  a  single  moment. 
Yet  it  is  of  the  essence  of  the  drama,  as  distinct 
for  instance  from  the  romance  or  novel,  that  the 
material  is  worked  up  into  so  distinct  a  shape 
that  every  part  belongs  to  every  other,  and  the 
conclusion  carries  the  mind  back  through  all  the 
stages  of  the  action  to  the  very  beginning.  While 
the  romance  has  no  fixed  limits,  the  more  concen- 
trated drama  proceeds  by  well-marked  stages,  and 
can  be  apprehended  as  a  whole  just  as  much  as 
can  a  great  building  or  a  sculptured  group. 

In  some  cases  the  artistic  whole  thus  constituted 
becomes  in  itself,  as  a  single  thing,  in  its  broadest 
and    most    general    aspects,    an    object    for    the 


154         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

aesthetic  contemplation,  and  these  cases  will  be 
discussed  in  the  succeeding  chapter.  Most  often 
however,  the  secret  of  the  effect  is  to  be  found  in 
the  more  or  less  subtle  disposition  of  the  various 
parts  or  elements,  whatever  they  may  be,  which 
combine  to  make  up  the  whole,  or,  in  other  words, 
in  what  artists  know  as  *  Composition.'  The 
present  chapter  is  accordingly  designed  to  deal 
with  the  elements  that  are  thus  employed  in 
artistic  composition,  while  the  method  and  laws 
of  their  combination  will  be  discussed  in  subse- 
quent sections. 

§  76.  Visual  Impressions  derived  from  the  Arts  of  Form. 

Since  we  are  only  concerned  in  this  book  with 
the  Arts  of  Form,  the  impressions  we  have  to 
do  with  are  visual  impressions,  and  are  known  in 
common  parlance  as  impressions  of  form  and 
colour  and  light-and-shade.  These  are  accord- 
ingly the  elements  which  make  up  the  effect  of 
the  arts  of  Architecture,  Sculpture  and  Painting, 
and  to  the  analysis  of  these  we  must  now  turn 
our  attention. 

Scientifically  speaking,  all  our  impressions  of 
form,  both  those  of  extended  surfaces  and  those 
of  solids,  are  not  direct  but  mediate ;  they  only 
result  from  certain  processes  of  synthesis  and 
inference.  These  processes  however  go  on  so 
rapidly  that  we  have  come  to  lose  all  conscious- 
ness of  them,  and  for  all  practical  purposes 
the  ordinary  convention  of  language  may  be 
admitted,  and  we  may  say  that  we  see  form 
just   as   we  see  colour  and   gradations    of  light. 


ANALYSIS   OF   VISUAL   IMPRESSIONS      155 

As  a  fact,  in  looking  for  example  at  a  group 
of  buildings,  though  we  only  see  differently- 
shaped  patches  of  light  and  shadow,  we  immedi- 
ately derive  from  these  the  assurance  of  the 
presence  of  solid  objects  of  three  dimensions. 
Further  we  claim  the  privilege  of  paying  attention 
specially  to  the  shape  of  these  patches  of  light- 
and-shade,  and  by  a  useful  convention  of  language 
we  call  these  boundaries  lines^  though  lines 
properly  speaking  do  not  exist  in  nature.  In 
artistic  parlance  effects  of  different  degrees  of 
light,  or  of  light-and-shade,  are  often  called  effects 
of  tone.  Now  light-and-shade  or  tone  on  objects 
(not  in  themselves  luminous)  depend  on  the 
amount  of  light  reflected  from  their  surfaces  and 
this  again  on  their  greater  or  less  distance  from 
the  eye,  on  the  angle  they  present  to  the  light, 
and  on  their  greater  or  less  degree  of  smoothness. 
A  polished  surface  reflects  almost  all  the  light 
it  receives,  but  when  the  surface  is  decidedly 
rough,  its  particles,  being  set  at  various  angles 
to  the  impinging  light,  produce  a  play  of  ex- 
tremely minute  patches  of  light-and-shade  over 
the  whole  space.  Such  roughness  of  surface 
results  in  the  artistic  quality  of  texture.  Texture 
felt  by  the  touch  is  some  form  or  another  of 
roughness,  but  to  the  eye  it  is  revealed  as  a 
delicate  mottling  or  play  of  light-and-shade,  and 
is  therefore  connected  with  the  artistic  effect  of 
tone.  If  therefore  we  say  that  we  see  in  nature 
Tones,  Textures,  Colours,  Forms  and  Lines,  our 
language  will,  for  the  matter  in  hand,  be  sufficiently 
precise  and  comprehensive. 


IS6         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

The  arts  of  form,  creating  new  shapes  in  archi- 
tecture, and  in  sculpture  and  painting  reproducing 
for  us  under  certain  conditions  and  limitations  the 
shapes  of  nature,  supply  us  with  these  same  im- 
pressions arranged  according  to  that  artistic  'order' 
which  is  meant  by  the  word  '  composition.'  Our 
next  task  is  briefly  to  draw  out  the  differences 
between  architecture,  sculpture  and  painting  in 
the  use  they  respectively  make  of  these  elements 
of  artistic  effect,  and  in  doing  this  we  shall  en- 
deavour to  determine  the  special  function  of  these 
several  arts,  and  to  form  a  clear  idea  of  what  to 
look  for  from  each. 

§  77.  The  Elements  of  Effect  in  Architecture ;  Masses. 

From  architecture,  as  we  have  already  seen 
(§  19),  and  as  will  be  explained  more  at  length  in 
the  sequel,  we  receive  primarily  the  impression  of 
mass,  and  architectural  composition  is  first  of  all 
composition  of  masses.  As  our  impression  of 
solid  forms  in  general  is  derived  partly  from  our 
experience  in  moving  up  to  and  around  them,  so 
architectural  masses  are  things  that  we  know  by 
walking  round  and  about  them  and  ascending 
them,  and,  especially,  by  measuring  them  against 
ourselves.  This  comparison  with  ourselves  has 
not  a  little  to  do  with  our  estimate  of  architec- 
tural magnitudes.  The  '  measure  of  a  man  '  is 
necessarily  applied  to  buildings  intended  for 
human  occupation  and  use.  Such  features  as 
doors,  windows,  steps,  seats,  balustrades,  and 
the  like,  have  their  normal  dimensions  indicated 
for  them    in    this    way,    and    hence    when    they 


ELEMENTS  OF  ARCHITECTURAL  EFFECT   157 

exceed  these  dimensions,  though  their  actual  size 
may  be  nothing  extraordinary,  they  take  on 
themselves  at  once  an  air  of  grandeur.  This  is 
the  case  with  the  steps,  generally  three  in  number, 
forming  the  approach  to  the  platform  of  the  Doric 
temple.  They  are  too  high  to  be  mounted  in  the 
ordinary  way,  and  accordingly  give  an  air  of 
dignity  to  the  whole  access,  as  if  the  building 
were  for  giants. 

§78.  Lines  in  Architecture. 

The  architectural  masses  measured  by  us  in 
this  manner  are  bounded  by  definite  contours, 
and  architectural  composition  is  in  the  second 
place  composition  of  lines.  The  lines  of  archi- 
tectural masses  have  their  own  distinct  character. 
They  are  mainly  rectilinear  and  have  the  general 
direction  of  horizontal  and  vertical — horizontal 
as  corresponding  with  the  level  ground  or  base  of 
the  monument,  and  vertical  as  expressing  eleva- 
tion. The  verticality  of  architectural  lines  is  how- 
ever modified  by  the  statical  requirements  of  an 
elevated  structure,  which  is  more  stable  if  broader 
at  the  base  than  in  the  upper  portions.  Hence 
the  appearance  of  oblique  lines  in  architectural 
compositions  (which  also  occur  for  other  reasons, 
as  when  roofs  have  high-pitched  slopes  for  throw- 
ing off  rain  and  snow),  and  M.  Viollet-le-Duc 
has  even  made  the  triangle  on  this  ground  the 
generating  figure  of  architectural  masses.^  Curved 
lines  in  architectural  compositions  are  mainly 
created   by   the   use  of  the   arch   or  vault  in  its 

^  Dictionnaire  de  V Architecture  Fran^aise,  Art.  *  Proportion,' 


158         EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

various  forms.  In  most  cases  the  curves  are 
parts  of  circles.  The  Assyrians,  later  Greeks  and 
Romans,  when  they  used  the  arch  on  a  monu- 
mental scale,  employed  it  in  the  form  of  the  half- 
round.  The  pointed  arch  in  western  medieval 
architecture  consists  as  a  rule  of  two  segments  of 
the  same  circle  meeting  each  other  at  an  angle 
more  or  less  acute.  The  Renaissance  re-introduced 
the  half-round.  Though  there  is  greater  variety 
in  the  curvature  of  the  elliptical  arches  of  the 
Sassanid  builders,  in  the  Arab  horse-shoes,  or 
the  Tudor  ogee,  yet  these  are  comparatively 
exceptional  forms  when  compared  with  those 
generated  by  the  revolving  radius.  The  entasis 
of  the  Doric  column  is  marked  by  a  very 
delicate  curve  and  such  also  is  the  outline  of  the 
Ionic  volute,  the  circle  in  both  cases  being  dis- 
carded for  curves  of  more  varied  contour,  and 
this  is  also  the  case  with  most  of  the  lines  of 
carved  ornament.  The  outline  of  an  external 
dome  like  St.  Peter  or  St.  Paul  or  the  Invalides 
is  the  most  conspicuous  and  telling  curved  form 
in  architecture,  and  though  each  side  may  be 
formed  of  a  segment  struck  by  the  compasses,  the 
shape  of  the  whole  mass  is  more  pointed  than 
that  of  a  hemisphere. 

§79.  Light-and-Shade  and  Texture  in  Architecture. 

In  light-and-shade  is  found  another  important 
element  of  architectural  effect.  Wherever  the 
general  mass  is  broken  into  parts  that  recede  or 
advance  or  are  set  at  varying  angles  to  each 
other,  the  incidence  and  reflection  of  the  light  are 


TEXTURE   IN   ARCHITECTURE  159 

altered ;  but  apart  from  this  broad  effect  of 
light-and-shade  over  the  whole  monument,  ad- 
vantage is  taken  of  any  constructive  feature,  such 
as  the  projecting  buttress,  the  recessed  portal,  the 
overhanging  cornice,  to  strike  a  strong  mass  or 
line  of  shadow  into  or  along  the  more  illumined 
portions.  On  the  outer  facade  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  at  Venice,  in  its  present  form  a  somewhat 
clumsy  architectural  composition,  an  excellent 
effect  is  produced  by  the  blotches  of  deep  shadow 
in  the  recesses  of  the  two  superimposed  arcades. 
In  the  modern  Scottish  National  Portrait  Gallery 
at  Edinburgh,  the  front  of  which  is  modelled  on 
the  Venetian  fagade,  the  arched  openings  are  filled 
in  with  glass  with  a  resultant  flatness  and  poverty 
of  aspect.  The  comparison  illustrates  the  value 
of  shadow  as  an  architectural  quality. 

The  influence  of  light-and-shade  in  giving  the 
particular  value  of  texture  to  architectural  surfaces 
has  already  been  indicated  (§  ^6).  In  the  distant 
view  of  a  building  it  has  been  remarked  that  the 
decorative  sculpture,  the  mouldings  and  other 
features  of  detail,  losing  their  own  individual 
shapes,  are  merged  in  a  general  effect  of  texture. 
Texture  too  is  given  by  the  *  rustication '  or  bossy 
treatment  of  stonework,  which,  under  conditions 
to  be  afterwards  noticed  (§  134),  adds  impressive- 
ness  to  the  lower  stories  of  buildings  in  contrast 
with  smoothed  stonework  above.  There  are,  how- 
ever, effects  of  texture  of  a  somewhat  different 
kind.  A  good  deal  of  the  pleasure  we  derive  from 
old  buildings  is  due  to  the  varieties  of  surface- 
texture  caused  partly  by  irregularities  of  material 


i6o         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

and  workmanship,  partly  by  the  corroding  influ- 
ence of  time.  It  is  possible  to  carry  admiration 
of  this  last  accidental  quality  too  far,  and  there  is 
a  touch  of  modern  affectation  in  the  sentimental 
delight  some  take  in  time-worn  brick  or  stone- 
work, which  after  all  was  meant  by  its  builder  to 
be  sharp  of  angle  and  even  of  grain.  To  claim 
this  quality  of  texture  as  a  necessary  condition  of 
artistic  excellence  in  construction  and  carving 
would  be,  as  we  shall  find  (§  121),  a  mistake, 
for  wherever  form  reaches  a  really  high  standard 
of  strength  and  refinement,  texture,  as  dependent 
on  accidental  inequalities  of  surface,  can  be  dis- 
pensed with  without  any  loss. 

In  yet  another  sense  texture  gives  a  beauty  to 
a  building-material  quite  independent  of  any  effect 
of  weathering.  The  handling  of  the  surface  of 
the  material,  when  it  is  a  fine  one,  is  a  matter  of 
the  utmost  importance,  and  there  is  no  worse  sin 
that  can  be  committed  by  a  *  restorer '  than  to  let 
an  unfeeling  modern  mason  *  work  over '  the  face 
of  ancient  ashlar.  The  original  handling  ex- 
pressed the  character  of  the  material,  and  the 
resulting  superficies  has  an  aesthetic  beauty  de- 
rived from  its  intrinsic  excellence,  for  the  surface- 
quality  is  the  outward  expression  of  the  molecular 
structure  in  virtue  of  which  the  material  becomes 
the  trusted  vehicle  of  the  architect's  conceptions. 

Texture  in  this  sense  is  a  noble  and  expressive 
aesthetic  quality,  very  near  to  the  essential  char- 
acter of  architecture.  It  has  been  necessary  to 
dwell  upon  it  because  it  is  often  confounded  with 
the  quality  of  colour,  with  which,  however,  it  has 


1 


COLOUR   IN   ARCHITECTURE  i6i 

only  an  accidental  connection.  It  is  true,  of 
course,  that  most  materials  weather  to  colour  as 
well  as  to  beauty  of  surface.  Owing  to  the  fact 
that  Pentelic  marble  contains  minute  particles  of 
iron,  the  old  Athenian  buildings  have  assumed  in 
time  a  rich  golden  hue,  now  known  to  be  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  rust ;  and  every  one  has 
admired  the  delightful  tints  of  old  tiles  and  brick- 
work in  our  own  domestic  architecture.  Beautiful 
also  are  the  tones  assumed  by  Portland  stone  in 
the  atmosphere  of  the  metropolis.  The  alterna- 
tion of  a  greyish  white  and  rich  sooty  black  on 
the  exposed  and  protected  planes  is  singularly 
telling,  and  St.  Paul,  St.  Martin-in-the-Fields, 
and  other  structures  in  this  material  owe  not  a 
little  to  this  effective  peculiarity.  Why  other 
building  stones  should  in  the  London  air  de- 
generate to  a  lifeless  mud-colour,  and  the  Portland 
stone  tell  out  to  all  time  so  bold  and  bright,  we 
need  not  inquire,  but  to  this  fact  London  owes  not 
a  little  of  such  architectural  charm  as  it  possesses. 

§  80.  Colour  not  an  essential  element  in  Architectural 
Effect. 

Of  Colour  as  an  effect  in  architecture  it  must  first 
be  noted,  that  since  the  various  building  materials, 
stone,  brick,  timber,  show  considerable  variety  in 
hue,  it  is  a  legitimate  sphere  of  the  architect's 
work  so  to  choose  and  arrange  them  as  to  produce 
a  pleasing  colour-scheme.  To  this  extent  an 
architect  may  even  be  said  to  compose  in  colour. 
The  general  tint  of  a  building  stone,  the  hue  of 
brick  or  tiling,  undoubtedly  count  for  a  good  deal 


i62         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

in  architectural  effect ;  and  where  two  materials 
are  equally  good  from  the  tectonic  point  of  view, 
the  one  with  a  more  pleasing  colour  is  un- 
doubtedly to  be  preferred.  The  inherent  colour 
of  a  material  is  not  however,  like  texture,  an 
index  to  its  actual  constitution.  It  is  more  of 
the  nature  of  an  accident  than  the  outward  ex- 
pression of  structure,  and  ranks  lower  in  archi- 
tectural importance  than  texture.  A  good 
building  material  will  look  well  and  weather 
well,  but  need  not  be  of  any  distinctive  colour. 
Only  when  other  things  are  equal  should  con- 
siderations of  the  colour  of  a  material  influence 
the  choice  of  it.  If,  as  is  here  contended,  the 
architect  who  has  a  sense  of  the  monumental 
will  choose  his  stone  or  bricks  primarily  for 
their  characteristics  as  building  materials,  and 
only  in  a  secondary  sense  for  their  colour,  then 
colour  even  in  this  most  natural  form  of  it  is 
acknowledged  to  be  a  non-essential,  though  a 
valuable,  quality. 

Such  employment  of  a  pleasing  single  building 
material,  or  of  polychrome  materials  which  can  be 
arranged  in  large  masses,  in  bands  or  stripes,  or  in 
a  mosaic-like  chequer,  is  a  different  thing  from 
the  painting  or  incrustation  of  architecture  in- 
dulged in  so  freely  both  in  classical  and 
medieval  days.  The  outcome  of  this  practice 
has  been  the  production  of  a  crowd  of  lovely 
structures  old  and  new  and  in  every  land,  of 
which  colour  is  the  distinctive  charm.  Colour  in 
paint  or  inlay  or  panel  or  film  of  gold  glances  and 
glows  from  them  all.     There   are   the  pylons  of 


COLOUR   IN   ARCHITECTURE  163 

Egypt  gay  with  painted  figures  and  picture  script ; 
tiie  stuccoed  walls  of  Babylonian  palaces  incrusted 
with  enamelled  tiles  ;  the  Mycenaean  house  that 
sparkled  with  metal  appliques  and  inlayed  pastes 
of  oriental  blue.  The  Greek  temples  were  not 
pure  white,  but  were  pranked  with  coloured  guil- 
loche  or  fret  and  with  golden  stars  on  roofs  of 
skyey  blue,  and  threw  up  their  decorative  sculp- 
ture from  a  background  of  full  vermilion  or  ultra- 
marine. The  huge  Alexandrian  piles  of  brick  and 
concrete  were  faced  with  veneers  of  oriental  mar- 
bles of  every  hue,  and  the  same  materials,  sawn 
out  of  a  hundred  outland  quarries,  shone  on  the 
walls  and  pavements  of  Imperial  Rome.  The 
new  Rome  of  Constantine  rears  above  her  varied 
marble  walls  domes  all  opulent  within  with 
golden  mosaics,  while  the  Early  Christian  artists 
of  Rayenna,  with  finer  taste,  relieve  against  a 
background  of  blue  their  stately  pictured  forms  of 
Apostle  and  of  Saint.  While  the  Byzantine 
tradition  of  colour,  mingling  with  old  oriental 
elements,  kindles  the  golden  lights  and  fires  the 
deeper  gules  and  azure  of  the  fretted  Moorish 
roofs,  and  further  east  the  glories  of  Babylon  are 
revived  in  the  tiles  and  inlays  of  Bagdad  or 
Ispahan,  in  the  medieval  churches  of  the  north 
the  interiors  were  aglow  with  paint  and  gilding  in 
the  carved  woodwork,  and  with  blood-reds  in  the 
hollow  of  the  sculptured  leafage  and  the  mould- 
ings, while  the  windows  poured  in  a  coloured  light 
thrown  back  from  the  deeper  hues  of  Saracenic 
hangings  between  the  pillars  of  the  nave  arcades. 
The  chapels  and  the  halls  of  the  Italy  of  the  Early 


i64         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

Renaissance  were  habited  within  in  every  part 
with  mural  pictures,  framed  and  extended  by 
well-composed  decorative  motives.  And,  apart 
from  these  more  ambitious  structures,  what  a  feast 
of  colours,  brilliant  or  subdued,  is  offered  by  the 
domestic  buildings  of  wood  and  brick  and  tiling 
in  all  the  lands  of  the  North !  Garish  on  Nor- 
wegian or  Russian  timber-houses,  more  mellow  on 
the  tiled  cottage  of  Surrey  or  on  Scottish  harling, 
the  tints  of  the  homely  fabrics  seem  to  join  with 
the  splendours  of  church  and  palace  to  an- 
nunciate the  universal  rule  of  colour. 

In  spite  of  this  body  of  evidence  in  favour  of 
polychromy  in  architecture  there  can  be  no 
shadow  of  doubt  that  colour  in  this  form  also 
is  no  essential  element  of  architectural  effect. 
Colour  in  decorative  fittings  is  of  course  to  be 
taken  for  granted  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question.  Its  architectural  use  in  almost  all  the 
examples  just  noticed  is  in  connection  with  in- 
ferior materials  such  as  wood,  plaster  and  rubble- 
work,  in  which  the  highest  kind  of  monumental 
expression  is  impossible.  The  exceptions  are  the 
temples  of  Egypt  and  Greece,  but  here  we  can 
find  an  explanation  of  the  use  of  pigment  on 
stone  and  marble  in  the  survival  of  older  tradi- 
tions of  construction  in  wood.  The  stone  temples 
of  the  Egyptians,  Greeks  and  old  Italians  had 
once  been  wooden  temples,  and  traces  of  timber 
practice  remained  on  them  throughout.  Now  to 
paint  woodwork  is  an  obvious  and  necessary 
process,  preservative  as  much  as  ornamental,  but 
this    is   by   no   means   the    case    with    the    more 


COLOUR   IN  ARCHITECTURE  165 

durable  stone,  the  finer  sorts  of  which  have 
higher  beauties  than  those  of  local  hue.  Hence 
we  may  regard  the  painted  stone  architecture  of 
the  ancients  as  a  survival  from  painted  wood 
architecture,  and  may  ignore  its  bearing  on  the 
aesthetic  principle  under  discussion. 

With  these  exceptions,  all  the  notable  instances 
of  polychromy  in  the  buildings  instanced  are  of 
colour  applied  in  veneers  of  a  rich  over  a  poorer 
material,  or  in  the  form  of  pigment  on  to  wood  or 
plaster.  As  a  general  principle,  the  nobler  the 
material,  the  more  monumental  the  spirit  of  a 
fabric,  the  less  need  will  be  felt  for  the  adjunct 
of  colour,  and  the  architect  can  express  himself 
completely  in  a  single  building  material  without 
surface  decoration.  This  is  proved  by  the  work 
of  Sir  Christopher  Wren.  The  builder  of  the 
City  churches  owed  nothing  to  the  painter  or  the 
carver,  who  are  fondly  regarded  by  some  as  minis- 
tering spirits  essential  to  the  welfare  of  archi- 
tecture,^ but  satisfied  his  artistic  aims  with  the 
one  fine  material  at  his  disposal.  Let  us  compare 
for  a  moment  St.  Peter  in  Rome  with  St.  Paul 
in  London.  The  former  is  finished  externally  in 
Travertine,  the  latter  in  Portland  stone,  and  no 
one  in  the  present  day  would  dream  of  applying 
paint  to  either  exterior.  The  inner  walls  of  the 
Roman  church  are  of  common  rubble,  and  here 
the  existing  polychrome  effect  of  the  marble  inlays 
and  painted  stucco  is  quite  in  place.  Wren  finished 
St.   Paul    in    the    interior    with    fine    stone-work, 

^  For  this  view  see  Ruskin's  Preface  to  the  2nd  Edition  of  TIu 
Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture  and  The  Two  Paths. 


i66         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

leaving  only  the  cupolas  and  spandrels  of  plaster 
over  brick.  These  last  he  planned  as  fields  for 
colour  decoration,  but  there  is  no  evidence  that  he 
ever  contemplated  the  paint  and  gilding  and 
marble  veneers  and  stencilling  and  script,  with 
which  the  fine  surface  quality  and  colour  of  the 
stone  are  now  being  marred.  Monumental  archi- 
tecture in  fine  material,  let  us  repeat,  is  inde- 
pendent of  colour,  which  must  be  excluded  from 
the  list  of  architectural  effects  that  are  of  the 
essentials  of  the  art.  Architecture  then  presents 
us  with  Masses,  Lines,  effects  of  Light-and-Shade 
and  of  Texture,  and  accidentally  at  times  with 
pleasing  appearances  of  Colour. 

§81.  The  Elements  of  Effect  in  Sculpture:  distinction 
between  Sculpture  in  the  Bound  and  Belief. 

The  sculptor,  like  the  architect,  presents  us 
with  objects  of  three  dimensions  that  offer  us 
varying  Contours  with  effects  of  Light-and-Shade 
and  Texture,  but  in  this  case  the  objects  are 
imitations  of  natural  forms,  most  usually  those  of 
the  human  body  and  of  the  higher  animals. 

In  dealing  with  the  plastic  art  it  is  convenient 
to  separate  sculpture  in  the  round  from  sculpture 
in  relief  In  the  case  of  sculpture  in  the  round 
the  representation  of  nature  is  direct.  A  solid 
object  is  copied  in  all  its  three  dimensions,  and 
the  work  of  art  does  not  merely  produce  the  im- 
pression of  solid  form  but  is  actually  in  itself  that 
form.  In  the  case  of  the  graphic  art,  what- 
ever the  impression  we  receive,  there  is  never 
anything  before  us  but  a  variously  coloured  and 


SCULPTURE,  ROUND   AND   RELIEF        167 

illumined  surface  of  two  dimensions  only.  Sculp- 
ture in  relief  however  comes  between  the  two,  and 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  graphic  as  well  as  of 
plastic  art.  Relief  sculpture  indeed  begins  at  the 
same  point  as  painting,  and  the  two  arts  are  in 
early  times  inseparably  united.  The  outline 
sketched  on  wooden  panel  or  slab  of  stone  is  the 
first  operation  in  both  these  arts.  This  outline 
may  then  be  incised  so  that  the  bounding  line 
becomes  a  groove  like  that  made  by  the  V-tool  of 
the  wood-carver,  but  the  delineation  is  still  graphic. 
If  the  part  within  the  outline  be  tinted  or  shaded 
to  represent  nature  we  have  the  beginning  of 
painting,  but  if  on  the  contrary  it  be  rounded 
off  towards  the  bottom  of  the  groove,  so  as  in  any 
way  to  indicate  the  thickness  of  the  object 
represented,  then,  however  slight  the  relief  thus 
produced,  the  result  is  a  piece  of  plastic  art. 
From  this  point  more  and  more  roundness  and 
modelling  can  be  added  to  the  relief,  while  on  his 
part  the  graphic  artist  can  go  on  adding  within 
the  original  outline  as  much  light  and  shade  and 
colour  as  he  pleases.  A  certain  graphic  character 
will  however  always  belong  to  the  relief  even 
when  boldly  modelled.  The  subject  tells  out 
primarily  as  a  surface  within  a  definite  outline  ; 
and  this  surface  is  directly  presented  to  the  eye  as 
in  the  graphic  art.  The  third  dimension  or  thick- 
ness of  the  object,  on  the  other  hand,  is  in  relief- 
work  only  partially  represented,  not  fully,  as  in 
sculpture  in  the  round.  Actual  depth  is  shown, 
but  not  to  the  full  extent  required,  the  rest 
having  to  be  made  up  by  suggestion.      In  other 


i68    EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

words  the  third  dimension  of  space  is  in 
relief  sculpture  expressed  to  some  extent  by  a 
convention.  The  particular  conventions  of  low 
and  high  relief  by  which  the  impression  of  solid 
form  in  its  full  depth  is  conveyed  to  the  eye, 
together  with  certain  points  in  the  management  of 
light-and-shade  specially  applicable  to  relief-work, 
will  be  noticed  in  the  chapter  on  sculpture 
(§§163  ff.),  and  need  not  further  concern  us  here. 

§  82.  The  Forms  presented  in  Sculpture. 

The  solid  Forms  presented  to  us  in  sculpture 
are  such  as  we  can  handle  and  embrace,  and  they 
waken  in  us  all  the  associations  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  connect  with  shapes  in  nature 
which  may  be  touched  and  clasped.  Such  being 
the  case,  the  question  suggests  itself  whether  or 
not  sculpture  addresses  itself  actually,  as  well  as 
ideally  and  through  association,  to  the  sense  of 
touch  jointly  with  the  sense  of  sight.  If  we 
measure  a  building  by  ourselves  moving  about  it 
and  around  it,  do  we  not  in  a  corresponding 
manner  estimate  sculptured  form  by  touching  it  ? 

This  question  happens  to  be  raised  in  a  curious 
passage  in  the  Commentaries  of  the  Florentine 
sculptor  Lorenzo  Ghiberti,  in  which  he  remarks 
of  a  certain  newly  discovered  antique  statue  that 
it  had  *  very  many  charms  of  such  a  kind  that  the 
sight  cannot  apprehend  them,  either  in  a  strong 
or  a  tempered  light ;  only  the  hand  by  its  touch  can 
discover  theml  ^  and  it  may  be  asked  whether  the 

^  Commentario  III,  in  Le  Monnier's  Vasari,  Firenze,  1846,  etc., 
I.  p.  xii. 


SCULPTURESQUE  EFFECT  j6g^ 

observation  is  one  of  general  application,  ^ew 
artists  have  been  endowed  with  a  more  refined 
appreciation  of  form  than  Ghiberti  ;  did  he  really 
consider  that  part  of  the  effect  of  sculpture  was 
derived  from  the  sense  of  touch  ?  It  is  obvious 
that  in  practice  the  application  of  the  finger-tips 
to  a  finished  work  of  sculpture  would  quickly 
result  in  unpleasing  mementoes  of  the  contact, 
while  in  time  the  surface  texture,  upon  which 
many  sculptors  set  such  store,  would  suffer  actual 
abrasion.  It  is  clear  therefore  that  works  of 
the  plastic  art  are  made  to  be  looked  at,  not 
handled,  yet  on  the  other  hand  the  sense  of 
touch  is  freely  exercised  during  their  production. 
The  artist,  working  from  the  life,  will  actually 
fee/  his  model,  to  assist  him  in  securing  the 
particular  quality  he  desires  in  a  subtly  modelled 
part  like  the  knee,  and  will  test  his  own  work 
in  the  same  way  by  touch  as  well  as  by  the  eye. 

§  83.  Contour,  Light-and-Shade,  Texture  and  Colour  in 
Sculpture. 

Apart  from  the  impression  of  solid  form,  a 
large  part  of  the  artistic  effect  of  sculpture 
depends  on  Contour.  Sculpturesque  composition 
is  not  only  a  composition  of  masses,  but  to  a 
great  extent  also  composition  of  lines.  The 
lines  the  sculptor  works  for  differ  from  those  of 
the  architect  in  their  greater  variety  and  beauty. 
They  are  almost  all  curved  forms,  and  among 
these  portions  of  a  circle  are  avoided.  The 
utmost  variety  of  curves,  from  those  approaching 
though    sensibly   differing  from  the   straight  line 


I70    EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

to  those  of  extremest  flexion,  are  to  be  found 
in  a  good  work  of  sculpture,  every  one  bearing 
its  part  in  the  effect  of  the  whole. 

It  is  without  avail  for  the  modeller  to  elaborate 
the  delicate  rise  and  fall  of  his  swelling  forms, 
unless  the  impression  of  them  can  be  properly 
conveyed  to  the  spectator.  As  we  have  seen 
that  the  sense  of  vision  is  in  strictness  the  only 
sense  concerned,  and  as  form  is  mainly  revealed 
to  the  eye  by  light-and-shade,  so  the  sculptor 
has  to  consider  narrowly  the  lighting  of  his 
work.  When  it  is  an  independent  production  like 
a  gallery  statue  or  relief,  that  can  be  moved 
wherever  desired,  the  position  and  lighting  can 
be  arranged  so  as  duly  to  throw  up  the  forms, 
but  when  it  is  a  decorative  or  a  monumental 
work,  designed  for  a  predetermined  situation  or 
for  the  open  air,  the  sculptor  is  bound  to  arrange 
his  composition  with  relation  to  the  proposed 
situation  and  surroundings  of  the  piece.  Light- 
and-shade  as  conveying  the  effect  of  form  will 
thus  have  to  be  taken  into  consideration,  and 
masses  of  light  and  shadow  as  forming  by  them- 
selves an  effective  artistic  display  will  also  be 
provided  as  part  of  the  impression  of  the  whole. 

Of  Texture  as  an  element  in  plastic  effect  more 
will  be  said  in  a  succeeding  chapter  (§  1 1 8).  The 
effort  after  texture,  a  quality  for  the  most  part 
ignored  by  the  Greeks,  is  very  apparent  in  modern 
work,  and  on  this  depend  some  important  ques- 
tions about  the  art. 

In  regard  to  the  element  of  Colour,  a  good 
deal  which  was  said  about  its  use  in  architecture 


COLOUR   IN   SCULPTURE  171 

applies  also  here,  namely,  that  though  it  may  be 
made  an  attractive  adjunct,  it  is  certainly  not 
an  essential  element  of  sculpturesque  effect.  If 
the  example  of  the  ancients  be  quoted  in  favour 
of  its  use,  the  answer  is  that  the  ancients  painted 
their  stone  statues  just  as  they  painted  their 
stone  buildings,  more  as  a  matter  of  tradition 
than  of  deliberate  artistic  choice. 

§  84.  The  Colouring  of  antique  Sculpture. 

The  practice  of  the  Greeks  is  so  often  invoked 
in  discussions  of  this  kind,  that  it  is  well  to  know 
in  each  case  what  the  *  practice  of  the  Greeks  * 
really  means.  The  Hellenic  artist,  it  must  never 
be  forgotten,  inherited  old  oriental  traditions 
which  were  especially  strong  in  matters  of  tech- 
nique. Hence  the  technical  processes  of  sculpture, 
employed  by  a  Pheidias  for  the  production  of 
the  world's  masterpieces  of  the  plastic  art,  were 
evolved  from  those  that  had  been  used  from 
time  immemorial  for  various  kinds  of  decorative 
and  architectural  carving,  and  for  the  making 
of  big  dolls  in  the  form  of  temple-idols. 

(i)  The  use  of  colour  on  friezes,  on  pediment 
groups  and  metopes,  and  on  other  pieces  of  archi- 
tectural carving,  followed  naturally  from  the 
traditional  employment  of  colour  on  the  building 
itself,  about  which  a  word  has  already  been  said. 
Colour  here  was  inevitable,  and  we  cannot  argue 
from  its  use  that  the  Greeks  would  have  elected, 
as  a  matter  of  free  artistic  choice,  to  tint  the 
ground  of  a  relief  or  paint  the  dress  and  armour 
of  a  figure,  when  fashioned  as  independent  works 


172         EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

of  art.  The  colours  used  in  this  architectural 
sculpture  were  decorative  not  realistic.  Shields 
might  be  painted  blue  on  one  side  and  red  on  the 
other,  but  not  coloured  so  as  to  imitate  bronze  or 
leather. 

(2)  The  independent  statue,  fashioned  either  in 
stone  or  wood,  appears  in  the  oldest  Egypt,  and 
has  about  it  a  good  deal  of  that  crude  realism 
which  marks  the  infancy  of  representative  art. 
The  epidermis  is  coloured  to  correspond  with 
nature,  the  flesh  of  women  being  tinted  a  lighter 
hue  than  that  of  men,  the  eyes  are  represented 
often  by  some  special  material,  the  drapery  is 
painted.  The  earliest  statues  of  the  gods  in 
Greece  were  of  a  similar  kind,  only  ruder  and 
more  childish  in  their  realism  than  those  of 
Egypt.  The  wooden  doll  (called  'xoanon')  was 
made  as  lifelike  as  possible  by  being  dressed  up 
in  real  clothes  with  a  wig  of  hair,  and  with  acces- 
sories or  arms  in  actual  metalwork  and  jewelry. 
However  barbaric  such  productions  may  have 
appeared  in  the  eyes  of  later  generations,  they 
were  as  we  have  seen  (§  32),  highly  honoured 
from  a  religious  point  of  view,  and  they  left  a 
deep  mark  on  sculpture  in  its  after  development. 
The  free-standing  or  seated  statue  in  gold-and- 
ivory,  in  marble,  or  in  bronze,  appeared  then  as 
the  lineal  successor  of  the  clothed  or  painted 
wooden  figures,  and  the  inlays  of  the  first,  the 
tinting  of  the  marble,  the  partial  incrustations  of 
the  bronze,  were  survivals  which  perpetuated  the 
old  traditions  founded  on  the  crudest  realism. 
In    the   first    case,  though    the   wooden   doll    re- 


ANCIENT  POLYCHROMY  173 

mained,  the  clothes  and  wig  disappeared  with 
the  painting  on  the  face,  and  ivory  was  adopted 
for  the  flesh,  as  the  lighter  portion,  with  gold  for 
the  darker  hair  and  for  the  vesture,  the  two 
materials  being  employed  merely  as  inlays  upon 
the  original  structure,  or  doll,  of  wood.  In  the 
case  of  early  stone  figures  instruction  is  to  be 
derived  from  the  fragments  of  decorative  com- 
positions of  the  sixth  century  B.C.  found  not  long 
ago  on  the  Athenian  Acropolis.  Many  of  these  are 
in  a  very  coarse  soft  limestone,  and  the  material 
was  treated  like  the  rubble  or  mud-brick  of 
buildings  finished  in  polychromy — it  was  entirely 
concealed  under  a  complete  coating  of  colour. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  polychrome 
sculpture  the  colours  applied  to  different  parts 
were  not  necessarily  naturalistic.  Doubtless  real- 
ism had  been  the  original  principle  of  selection  in 
the  remotest  past,  but  in  the  course  of  time  the 
colours  had  become  merely  conventional,  and  we 
find  for  example  that  the  hair  in  painted  statues 
was  nearly  always  of  a  dark  red  hue.^  One  of 
the  Athenian  figures  just  referred  to,  popularly 
known  as  *  Bluebeard,'  has  the  hair  and  beard 
of  a  strong  azure !  When  the  material  of  the 
statue  was  bronze,  the  taste  of  the  Greeks  rightly 
revolted  from  the  use  of  pigment,  and  the  colour 
effect  was  produced  by  total  or  partial  gilding,  by 
the  use  of  coloured  enamels,  and  by  incrustations 
in  differently  tinted  bronze  or  in  other  metals. 
Thus  the  eyes  were  made  of  silver,  of  costly 
stones,  of  enamel,  and  the  lips  were  formed  of 
*  This  red  tint  was  also  used  as  the  ground  for  gilding. 


174         EFFECT   IN   THE   ARTS   OF   FORM 

separate  pieces  of  bronze  the  special  tint  of  which, 
differing  from  that  of  the  general  mass,  would 
indicate  the  variety  of  colouring  observable  in 
these  parts  in  nature. 

Polychromy  in  all  kinds  of  ancient  sculpture 
was  accordingly  based  on  immemorial  tradition, 
and  whatever  view,  as  an  abstract  doctrine,  the 
Greeks  might  have  held  about  painting  statuary, 
they  would  certainly  for  the  above  reason  have 
used  colour  in  their  early  efforts.  The  fact  however 
that,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  such  use  decreased 
as  time  went  on,  is  a  safe  proof  that  old  habits 
of  work  had  most  to  do  with  the  practice  in 
question.  Not  only  in  monumental  but  also  in 
decorative  sculpture,  and  even  in  mere  archi- 
tectural carving,  colouring  and  other  realistic 
additions,  though  not  abolished,  were  gradually 
restricted  in  the  later  ages  of  classical  art.  While 
on  the  early  Doric  temple — as  in  the  case  of  the 
Parthenon — the  leaf  ornament,  generally  an  un- 
developed form  of  what  became  later  the  *  egg- 
and-dart,'  is  painted  on  the  moulding,  in  the 
Ionic  style — as  in  the  Erechtheum — it  is  carved 
as  well  as  painted,  and  in  later  work,  though  it 
is  difficult  in  such  a  matter  to  prove  a  negative, 
carved  ornament  probably  often  sufficed  without 
the  use  of  colour  at  all.  The  decorative  figures 
in  the  oldest  pediment  compositions  of  the  fifth 
century  of  which  we  possess  substantial  fragments 
(those  from  ^Egina  in  the  Munich  Glyptotek) 
showed  considerable  use  of  colouring,  especially 
on  dress  and  armour,  and  had  the  accessory 
weapons,  ornaments  etc.  added  in  bronze ;  but  on 


ANCIENT  POLYCHROMY  175 

the  other  hand,  in  the  latest  great  architectural 
frieze  known  to  us,  the  stupendous  Battle  with 
the  Giants  from  Pergamon  (in  the  Berlin  Museum) 
dating  about  200-150  B.C.,  the  only  sign  of  any- 
thing of  the  kind  is  said  to  have  been  the  marks 
of  pigment  on  the  pupils  of  the  eyes.  The  frag- 
ments of  this  composition,  which  were  found  in 
1879  buried  in  the  earth  or  covered  with  mortar 
and  built  up  into  a  Byzantine  wall,  were  in  such  a 
condition  as  regards  surface  preservation  that  had 
colour  existed  upon  them  it  would  almost  certainly 
have  survived.  Further,  while  in  the  Parthenon 
frieze  (of  about  440  B.C.)  as  well  as  in  the  w^gina 
pediment  just  mentioned,  attributes  such  as  arms 
and  horse-trappings  were  added  in  metal,  in  the 
frieze  from  Pergamon  the  most  elaborate  orna- 
ments, together  with  arms  and  details  of  harness 
and  the  like,  are  carved  out  of  the  marble  in 
which  the  whole  is  wrought.  In  independent 
statuary  also  there  was  on  the  whole  less  depen- 
dence on  polychrome  effects  as  time  advanced. 
Bronze  and  marble,  in  the  first  place,  rather  than 
coarse  stone  or  inlaid  and  incrusted  wood,  became 
the  recognized  materials  for  the  temple-statue,  and 
the  former  of  these  admits  of  but  little  addition 
in  the  way  of  painting.  Colour  clung  still  how- 
ever to  the  marble,  but  here  again  the  discoveries 
on  the  Acropolis  have  proved  instructive.  Besides 
the  coarse  limestone  figures  just  noticed,  many 
female  statues  in  fine  Parian  marble  came  thus  to 
light.^     In  these  beautiful  examples  of  the  style 

•^Coloured  illustrations  in  Antike Denkmdler,  Berlin,  1889,  Bd.  i. 
Taf.  19,  30. 


176         EFFECT  IN   THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

of  work  prevailing  before  the  Persian  invasion 
colouring  was  not  spread  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  exquisite  material,  but  special  details  such 
as  the  borders  of  drapery,  the  hair,  the  eyes, 
the  lips,  were  picked  out  in  forcible  tints 
which  remain  on  many  specimens  distinct  to  this 
day. 

Delicately  applied  in  this  manner,  by  a  process 
known  to  the  Latin  writers  as  *  circumlitio,'  colour 
seems  to  have  formed  a  certain  element  of  variable 
quantity  in  the  effect  of  stone  sculpture  through- 
out the  classical  period.  It  was  apparently  the 
general  practice  of  the  later  Greeks  to  tone  down 
the  gleaming  whiteness  of  marble  by  the  appli- 
cation of  a  single  faint  warm  tint,  the  so-called 
ydv(i)(ri9f  thus  rendering  the  surface  as  a  whole 
more  harmonious  and  pleasing  to  the  eye.  This 
reduces  colour  almost  to  a  negative  function — that 
of  mitigating  the  crude  effect  of  dazzling  white- 
ness in  the  marble,  and  there  is  nothing  of  the 
old  childish  realism  in  the  practice.  It  is  hard  to 
say  however  whether  or  not  this  was  still  influen- 
cing later  sculptors  like  Praxiteles,  when  they  used 
the  old  touches  of  pigment  on  hair  or  lips  or  eyes, 
and  added  accessories  of  bronze.  The  Hermes 
by  this  artist  found  not  long  ago  at  Olympia 
showed  traces  of  red  colouring  on  the  hair — per- 
haps as  a  ground  for  gilding — while  there  was 
also  painting  on  the  drapery.  On  the  sandals 
the  thongs  were  gilded  over  a  red  ground.  In 
metal,  probably  gilded  bronze,  were  added  a  circlet 
round  the  head,  clasps  on  the  sandals,  and  the 
attribute,  doubtless  the  '  caduceus '  or  herald's  staff, 


ANCIENT   POLYCHROMY  177 

held  in  the  left  hand  of  the  statue.^  On  a  recently 
discovered  masterpiece  of  a  later  period,  the 
Augustus  of  the  Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican, 
found  at  Prima  Porta  near  Rome  in  1863,  there 
were  remains  indicating  an  extensive*  use  of  colour 
— crimson,  purple  and  yellow  on  the  drapery,  blue  on 
the  elaborate  reliefs  that  adorn  the  breast-plate.^ 

It  is  impossible  to  say  with  certainty  how  far 
such  an  embellishment  of  a  marble  statue  was 
normal  at  the  later  epochs  of  classical  art.  No 
traces  of  colour  have  been  found  on  the  vast 
majority  of  the  marble  statues  executed  in  Roman 
times  as  copies  of  Greek  originals,  but  the  Venus 
de'  Medici  is  said  to  have  had  gilded  hair.  Late 
works  in  the  so-called  *  archaistic,'  or  revived- 
archaic  style,  which  was  in  favour  among  Roman 
dilettanti  (as  for  example  the  painted  Diana 
from  Herculaneum),  imitate  the  polychrome 
effect  of  genuine  antiques  and  cannot  be  adduced 
as  evidence.  The  question  both  of  the  amount 
and  of  the  real  reason  of  colour  on  the  works  of 
the  maturer  periods  of  classical  sculpture  can 
hardly  yet  be  said  to  be  settled,  nor  is  it  easy 
to  form  a  critical  judgment  on  the  aesthetic  ques- 
tion involved.  The  artistic  effect  of  the  circumlitio 
which  is  still  in  evidence  on  those  fine  mature 
Greek  works,  the  recently  found  sculptured  sar- 
cophagi from  Sidon,  is  at  any  rate  warmly 
commended  by  Professor  Ernest  Gardner  in  his 
Handbook  of  Greek  Sculpture? 

*  Boetticher,  Olympia^  p.  331. 

^ Denknialer  des  klassischen  Alterthu77is^  Munich,  1885,  etc.,  Art. 
'Augustus.'  *  London,  1897,  p.  430. 

M 


178         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

§  85.  The  Colouring  of  Medieval  Sculpture. 

In  the  medieval  period,  polychrome  archi- 
tecture, and  with  it  coloured  sculpture,  was  in 
high  repute,  and  a  readily  accessible  example  of 
importance  is  the  interesting  relic  of  the  older 
church  at  Rheims  built  into  the  north  transept  of 
the  Gothic  cathedral.  This  fully-painted  work, 
where  we  see  a  wall  surface,  ornamental  carving, 
and  a  sculptured  group  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child,  all  brightly  tinted  in  greens  and  reds,  is 
sufficient  to  show  what  a  strong  tradition  of 
colour  was  handed  down  to  the  later  medieval 
and  Renaissance  craftsmen.  In  Gothic  interior 
detail  a  good  deal  of  colouring  was  used,  but  as 
regards  the  exteriors,  though  traces  of  polychromy 
on  the  sculptured  figures  outside  the  French 
cathedrals  were  observed  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  extent  of  its  employment  cannot  now 
be  determined.  In  Italian  art  all  the  wooden 
images,  and  they  were  innumerable,  were  gilded 
and  coloured,  and  all  works  in  terra-cotta  (as  was 
also  the  case  in  classical  times)  were  treated  with 
a  complete  colour  scheme.  On  the  other  hand 
bronzes  were  only  gilded,  and  the  incrustations  so 
common  in  classical  times  do  not  seem  to  have 
been  in  use.  Marble,  especially  in  the  form  of  the 
decorative  relief,  was  gilded  or  touched  with  colour, 
but  not  in  so  realistic  a  spirit  as  is  evidenced  in 
classical  work.  Monumental  sculpture  in  stone 
however  despised  this  embellishment,  and  one 
could  not  conceive  of  Michelangelo  painting  or 
gilding   the  David  or  the  figures  on  the  Medici 


EFFECT   IN   THE   GRAPHIC  ART  179 

tombs.  Modern  sculpture  in  marble  down  to  our 
own  time  has  depended  on  form  alone,  but  there 
has  been  of  late  a  revival  of  a  feeling  for  poly- 
chrome effects,  which  will  probably  for  a  time 
come  again  into  favour,  though  for  purely  de- 
corative and  not  realistic  reasons.  In  this 
connection  it  is  instructive  to  note  that  as  a  rule 
the  modern  votaries  of  polychromy  do  not  imitate 
the  effect  of  Greek  or  Italian  works  as  they  must 
have  appeared  when  freshly  done,  but  only  the 
half-faded  suggestions  on  the  marbles  as  they 
have  come  down  to  us  caressed  by  the  mellowing 
touch  of  time.  A  very  tenderly-modelled  marble 
statue  of  Susannah,  by  M.  Th.  Barrau  in  the  Paris 
Exhibition  of  1900  showed  these  timid  suggestive 
hints  at  colour  in  a  flush  here  and  there  on  the 
skin  or  in  the  azure  of  a  vein. 

§  86.  The  Elements  of  effect  in  the  Graphic  Art. 

In  turning  now  to  the  consideration  of  the 
visual  impressions  produced  by  the  graphic  art, 
we  may  say  at  the  outset  that  though  in  strictness 
there  are  two  forms  of  graphic  delineation,  painting 
proper  and  expression  in  black  and  white,  yet  these 
follow  in  the  main  the  same  laws,  with  the  differ- 
ence that  painting  makes  use  of  the  element  of 
colour.  The  two  forms  of  the  graphic  art  may 
therefore  for  the  present  be  considered  together. 
When  we  pass  from  architecture  and  sculpture  in 
the  round  to  painting,  we  transfer  ourselves  to 
quite  a  different  region  of  art,  to  which  sculpture 
in  relief  only  to  a  small  extent  serves  as  a  transi- 
tion.    The  first  two  arts  express  themselves  in  a 


i8o         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

perfectly  clear  and  intelligible  manner,  so  that 
every  one  can  see  what  they  are  doing  ;  but  about 
the  graphic  art  there  is  from  the  first  something 
out-of-the-way  that  puzzles  the  untutored  intelli- 
gence, and  it  is  owing  to  this  that  the  first  steps 
in  the  development  of  painting  are  so  hesitating 
and  slow,  and  that  the  art  is  the  latest  of  all  the 
arts  of  form  to  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  its  own 
capabilities.  While  architecture  and  sculpture 
were  perfected  in  the  ancient  world,  the  mysteries 
of  painting  had  not  been  fully  explored  until  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  of  our  era. 

Of  these  mysteries  the  first  is  the  indication  upon 
a  flat  surface  of  the  thickness  of  objects  and  their 
relative  distance  from  the  eye,  and  the  second  the 
representation  of  a  collection  of  objects,  practically 
unlimited  both  in  size  and  number,  upon  a  very 
restricted  space  of  panel  or  canvas.  In  the  power 
of  conveying  the  impression  of  so  much  by  means 
so  straitened  the  graphic  art  stands  quite  alone, 
for  though,  as  explained  in  §  165,  relief-sculpture 
endeavours  sometimes  in  imitation  of  painting  to 
multiply  the  number  of  objects  with  which  it  deals, 
the  effort  can  never  be  really  successful.  The 
painter's  task  is  in  no  way  increased  in  difficulty 
by  the  size  and  multiplicity  of  the  objects  which 
are  his  subject-matter,  and  he  is  just  as  ready  to 
portray  the  whole  face  of  nature  as  to  represent  a 
single  thing  close  at  hand.  If  the  architect  wish 
to  give  to  us  the  impression  of  vastness  and  mass, 
he  must  pile  stone  upon  stone  into  a  structure 
both  lofty  and  broad,  but  the  painter  without  ever 
touching  a  mason's  tool  can  bring  a  great  building 


THE   NATURE   OF   PAINTING  i8i 

before  our  eyes.  The  sculptor  can  only  affect  us 
by  moulding  an  actual  solid  shape,  while  on  the 
painter's  canvas  a  few  strokes  of  the  brush  will 
create  in  our  minds  the  impression  of  the  same 
form.  Nay  more,  painting  can  conjure  up  before 
us  not  only  the  single  sublime  or  beautiful  object, 
but  all  the  scenes  and  spaces  of  nature  that  stretch 
away  into  illimitable  distance,  and  can  depict  not 
only  the  form  of  objects  but  also  their  colour  and 
variety  of  surface-tint  and  tone.  The  graphic  art 
reproduces  for  us,  in  its  own  way,  all  the  visual 
impressions  we  receive  from  the  other  arts  of  form, 
as  well  as  all  impressions  of  the  same  kind  derived 
from  external  nature  at  large,  and  gives  us  accord- 
ingly the  effects  of  sublime  Mass,  of  beautiful 
Form  and  Contour,  of  Texture,  of  Tone  or  Light- 
and-Shade,  and  of  Colour. 

§  87.  Eelation  of  Painting  to  the  other  Arts  of  Fonn. 

Is  painting  then,  it  may  be  asked,  just  a  com- 
pendium of  all  the  other  arts  of  form  ?  In  one 
sense  it  is,  but  its  field  of  operation  is  not  merely 
coextensive  with  theirs.  In  representing  solid 
form  it  can  reproduce  for  us  the  impressions  of 
sublimity  and  beauty  we  receive  from  nature  and 
from  the  works  of  man,  but  can  only  reproduce 
them  in  a  very  faint  way  compared  with  their 
vivid  presentment  in  architecture  and  sculpture. 
Graphic  delineation  loses  in  fact  in  the  intensity  of 
the  impression  conveyed,  in  proportion  as  it  gains 
over  the  other  arts  in  breadth  and  copiousness. 
There  are  however  certain  parts  of  the  field  of 
artistic  representation  which  painting  has  to  itself, 


i82    EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

and  here,  where  it  does  not  come  into  any  com- 
petition with  its  sister  arts,  we  shall  find  the  secret 
of  its  strength. 

§  88.  Tlie  Essence  of  the  Painter's  Art. 

Ask  a  painter  who  possesses  the  true  instinct  of 
his  craft  what  it  is  in  nature  that  he  desires  to 
reproduce,  and  he  will  answer  that  it  is  the  surface 
appearance  of  things — not  their  form,  their  colour, 
their  texture,  their  light-and-shade,  severally  and 
singly,  but  all  these  fused  into  one  general  im- 
pression. We  may  ramble  with  him  through 
characteristic  scenes  of  town  or  country  and  will 
note  with  surprise  how  he  selects  his  subjects.  A 
back-yard  seen  down  through  a  dark  entry  will  be 
to  him  a  picture,  while  he  remains  completely 
indifferent  to  a  palace  facade  in  the  sunshine. 
The  most,  brilliant  colours  of  the  sunset  sky  give 
him  no  desire  to  take  out  his  brushes,  but  a 
country  road  on  a  frosty  morning  will  feast  his 
eye  with  harmonies  of  tint  that  only  a  painter's 
glance  can  discern.  What  he  looks  for  is  not  the 
thing  but  the  appearance,  and  he  will  explain  to 
us  that  this  magical  play  of  surface  effect,  which  he 
loves,  is  a  delicate  thing  as  accidental  as  it  is 
fugitive,  and  that  it  depends  on  the  combined 
influence  of  the  actual  local  colour  and  surface 
modelling  of  objects,  with  the  passing  condition  of 
their  lighting,  and  the  greater  or  less  clearness  of 
the  air  through  which  they  are  seen.  This  com- 
bination results  in  the  particular  beauty  for  which 
he  is  always  on  the  watch  and  which  he  will  seize 
wherever  he  can  find  it.     He  knows  well  that  it 


THE   NATURE   OF   PAINTING  183 

will  appear  in  the  most  casual  and  unlikely  places, 
in  mean  and  ugly  corners  and  upon  the  most 
ordinary  objects  of  daily  life,  just  as  often  as  upon 
the  mountain  range  or  on  the  unsullied  sky. 
Sometimes  it  will  be  a  heap  of  litter,  sometimes  a 
maiden's  face,  that  will  be  touched  with  this  name- 
less charm.  Things  to  the  ordinary  eye  most 
beautiful  may  be  barren  of  it,  while  it  will  touch 
and  glorify  a  clod.  To  reproduce  it  adequately 
demands  a  skill  of  touch  that  seems  like  the  most 
accomplished  sleight-of-hand,  and  that  can  only  be 
achieved  by  an  executant  who  enjoys  rare  natural 
gifts  developed  and  aided  by  long  practice  of  the  art. 
Such  work  as  this,  that  gives  back  nature  just 
as  she  is  seen,  in  the  most  direct  and  simple 
manner,  is  the  crown  and  flower  of  the  painter's 
craft.  The  secret  of  it  lies  in  not  troubling  about 
\.\\Q  facts  of  nature  but  devoting  attention  only  to 
her  outward  seeming.  All  the  painter  need  strive 
to  do  is  to  reproduce  for  us  the  appearance  of 
objects  as  visual  impressions,  and  these  impres- 
sions, if  we  take  what  we  actually  see  (§  yG)^  are 
of  differently  coloured  and  illumined  spaces  or 
patches  which  to  the  eye  seem  to  be  of  two 
dimensions  only.  If  these  be  rightly  copied, 
then,  so  far  as  it  is  the  work  of  the  pamter  to 
represent  nature,  that  work  is  done.  If  therefore 
the  graphic  artist  will  forget  all  that  he  knows 
about  the  real  shape  of  objects  and  about  their 
relative  distances,  and  will  attend  only  to  what  he 
actually  sees,  he  will  achieve  a  representation  of 
nature  that  is  both  direct  and  clear,  and  that  only 
his  particular  art  is  able  to  compass.     The  painter 


i84         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

who  can  do  this  has  attained  the  summit  of  his 
art,  and  can  work  henceforth  in  as  free  and 
straightforward  a  manner  as  the  sculptor.  This 
however,  which  seems  in  theory  the  simplest 
possible  process,  is  in  practice  the  most  difficult 
thing  in  the  representative  part  of  painting,  and  is 
only  compassed  by  the  greatest  masters  of  the  art. 
There  is  nothing  more  rare  in  ordinary  pro- 
cedure than  that  beautiful  and  thoroughly  artistic 
treatment  of  nature  in  which  she  is  appre- 
hended as  light-and-shade  and  colour  only,  the 
form  being  nowhere  insisted  on,  though  nowhere 
inaccurately  rendered.  In  such  work  the  subtle 
transitions,  the  play  of  tone,  and  tone  and  colour 
combined,  over  the  face  of  nature,  the  mystery 
and  enchantment  of  beauty  in  which  her  aspect 
is  veiled,  are  all  reproduced  again  for  us  upon 
the  canvas,  and  the  sharp  lines  and  mapped- 
out  appearance  of  ordinary  painting  give  place 
to  a  suggestion  of  forms  which  is  after  all  their 
truest  delineation.  Such  rendering  of  nature  we 
see  in  landscape  under  the  brush  of  Turner  or  of 
Corot,  in  figure  work  in  Correggio,  Velasquez  and 
Rembrandt,  in  John  Phillip  and  Millais  among 
the  moderns.  It  is  in  the  mature  work  of  such 
masters  of  the  painter's  craft  that  we  find  that 
truly  artistic,  yet  in  the  best  sense  accurate, 
treatment  noticed  above.  This,  which  is  termed 
by  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  the  '  mastery  by  which 
the  flat  surface  is  transformed  into  space,  so 
fascinating  in  the  judicious  unfinish  of  a  consum- 
mate workman,'^  is  well  exemplified  in  the  later 
'^  Materials i  ii.  p.  262. 


THE   PAINTER'S   GIFT  185 

pictures  of  Frans  Hals,  of  whom  Vandyke  is 
reported  to  have  said  that  *he  had  never  known 
anyone  who  had  the  brush  so  entirely  in  his 
power,  so  that  when  he  had  sketched  in  a  portrait 
he  was  able  to  render  the  essential  features  in 
light-and-shade  with  single  strokes  of  the  pencil, 
each  in  the  right  place,  without  altering  them  and 
without  fusing  them  together.'^ 

Velasquez,  a  more  exquisite  painter,  has  the 
same  power  of  giving  back  the  life  of  nature  in 
all  its  varied  subtleties  by  means  of  free  broad 
strokes  that  do  not  seem  to  follow  any  contours, 
but  when  the  spectator  is  at  the  right  distance, 
make  the  form  appear  to  stand  out  with  startling 
vividness  and  relief  In  one  of  his  very  latest 
works,  the  portrait  of  the  Infant  Philipp  Prosper 
at  Vienna,  as  a  child  of  two  years  old,  the  white 
drapery,  the  minute  fingers,  the  delicate  baby  face 
from  which  look  out  great  eyes  of  darkest  blue, 
are  all  indicated  with  touches  so  loosely  thrown 
upon  the  canvas  that  seen  near  by  they  are  all 
confusion — yet  the  life  and  truth  are  in  them, 
and  at  the  proper  focal  distance  nature  herself 
is  before  us.  The  touches  combine  to  give  the 
forms,  the  local  colours,  the  depth,  the  solidity 
of  nature,  while  at  the  same  time  the  chief 
impression  they  convey  is  that  of  the  opalescent 
play  of  changing  tones  and  hues  which,  eluding 
the  limitations  of  definite  contours,  make  up  to 
the  painter's  eye  the  chief  beauty  of  the  external 
world. 
^Houbraken,  Groote  Schouburgh,  s'Gravenhage,  1753,  i.  p.  92. 


i86         EFFECT   IN   THE   ARTS   OF   FORM 

§  89.  How  the  Painter  is  prepared  for  his  Work. 

Seeing  now  that  this  treatment  of  nature  is  at 
once  so  fine  and  so  difficult,  representing  the  ideal 
at  which  all  true  painters  must  aim  but  which 
only  the  greatest  fully  reach,  it  might  have  been 
expected  that  the  graphic  artist's  method  of  train- 
ing and  practice  would  have  all  been  directed 
towards  fitting  him  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
special  task  of  his  art.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
however,  the  painter's  education  and  his  early 
practice  seem  rather  designed  to  make  this  free 
broad  general  delineation  of  nature's  aspect  as 
xlifficult  to  him  as  possible.  As  a  general  rule  in 
/  our  schools  of  art  the  learner  is  not  taught  to  look 
V  at  nature  as  she  actually  appears,  as  tone  and 
\olour,  but  is  obliged,  first,  mentally  to  translate 
that  tone  and  colour  into  terms  of  form,  and, 
next,  to  abstract  from  the  resulting  forms  their 
boundaries  and  nothing  more,  reducing  in  this 
way  the  whole  to  lines  alone.  This  method  of 
beginning  with  outlines  is  open  to  the  obvious 
objection  that  it  ignores  the  aspect  of  nature  as  a 
whole,  and  attends  only  to  the  parts.  It  breaks 
up  what  should  always  remain  one,  and  it  asks 
the  delineator  to  substitute  for  what  he  really  sees, 
certain  conventions  arrived  at  by  a  process  of 
abstraction.  On  this  ground  it  is  every  now  and 
then  sharply  criticized  ;  *  Do  not  begin  with  out- 
lines^' some  say, '  but  with  the  tones  which  you  actually 
see^\  and  the  method  in  question  has  only  held 
the  field  because,  though  illogical  and  inartistic,  it 
has   certain   practical   conveniences.     The   fact  is 


THE   PAINTER'S   TRAINING  187 

that  nature,  when  viewed  in  all  her  subtle  and 
melting  loveliness,  is  too  complex  for  the  untrained 
eye  to  seize.  The  strong  framework  which  under- 
lies her  gleaming  outward  show,  and  which  the 
master  draughtsman  like  Hals  or  Velasquez  always 
lets  us  feel  beneath  his  soft  transitions  of  tone  and 
colour — the  anatomy  so  to  say  of  nature — is  not 
easy  to  apprehend,  and  the  effort  of  the  untrained 
eye  and  hand  would  be  liable  to  end  only  in 
vagueness. 

The  practice  of  the  greatest  painters  lends 
indeed  a  sanction  to  this  traditional  method  of 
teaching  the  graphic  art.  They  all  begin  by  em- 
phasizing form,  and  divide  their  objects  off  from, 
each  other  by  comparatively  definite  outlines  and 
marked  patches  of  shadow.  Velasquez  does  this 
and  Correggio,  Rembrandt  too  and  Hals,  John 
Phillip  and  Millais,  and  it  is  not  till  they  have 
served  their  time  of  apprenticeship  that  they 
reveal  to  us  the  magic  of  their  art.  It  is  in  their 
mature  and  later  work  that  we  find  the  free  and 
masterly  rendering  spoken  of  above.  The  same 
phenomenon  meets  us  in  the  history  of  the  graphic 
art  in  general.  The  earliest  painters  did  not  look 
at  the  whole  face  of  nature,  but  only  had  eyes  for 
a  few  near  objects  ;  even  these  they  did  not  appre- 
hend as  a  whole,  as  a  show  of  tone  and  colour, 
but  rather  as  forms,  and  in  rendering  them  as 
forms  attended,  like  the  beginner  at  the  modern 
art  school,  only  to  the  outlines.  The  outline 
filled  in  with  simple  tints,  with  no  variety  of 
internal  markings  or  indication  of  the  thickness  of 
objects  and  their  comparative  remoteness,  is  the 


i88         EFFECT   IN   THE   ARTS   OF   FORM 

standard  form  of  the  graphic  art  in  ancient  Egypt 
and  in  Greece,  though  in  the  latter  country  it  was 
carried  some  steps  further  in  advance.  The  same 
character  belongs  to  the  art  during  the  middle 
ages,  and  it  was  not  till  the  fifteenth  century  that 
it  began  to  come  to  a  knowledge  of  its  own 
capabilities.  Graphic  delineation  then  advanced 
rapidly  through  certain  stages  that  will  be  de- 
scribed in  detail  in  the  chapter  on  Painting  Old 
and  New,  and  attained  perfection  in  the  hands  of 
the  great  masters  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries,  who  were  able  at  last  to  give  an  artistic 
.rendering  of  the  aspect  of  the  world  in  all  its 
outward  charm.  It  seems,  in  fact,  to  be  a 
necessity  of  the  case  that  analysis  should  precede 
synthesis,  and  the  parts  of  painting  should  be 
attended  to  first  rather  than  the  whole.  There  is 
accordingly  one  kind  of  undeveloped  painting 
that  gives  us  only  outlines,  another  kind  that 
reproduces  for  us  in  a  clear-cut  mechanical  way 
the  impression  of  solid  forms,  a  third  that  gives  us 
light-and-shade,  a  fourth  that  emphasizes  colour, 
while  perfect  painting  will  render  directly  tone  and 
colour  and  texture  all  at  once,  and  will  convey 
thereby  an  indirect  but  true  impression  of  form 
and  distance. 

§  90.  Imperfect  forms  of  the  Graphic  Art ;  Line- 
drawing. 

This  last  kind  of  painting  will  form  the  theme 
of  the  special  chapter  on  the  art,  but  a  word  may 
here  be  said  on  those  more  limited  effects  just 
noticed.      Pure   line,  expressing  form   through  a 


IMPERFECT   KINDS   OF   PAINTING  189 

convention,  and  for  its  beauty  depending  on  deft 
combination  of  curves,  is  common  to  the  graphic 
art  and  to  sculpture  in  reHef.  The  contours  of  a 
piece  of  sculpture  in  the  round  vary  as  the 
spectator  moves,  but  when  drawn  on  a  panel  or 
incised'  on  a  marble  slab,  lines  are  comparatively 
distinct  and  fixed,  and  become  more  definite 
objects  of  study.  Generally  speaking  it  is  the 
sculptor,  or  the  painter  who  has  most  affinity  with 
the  plastic  art,  that  delights  in  composition  of 
lines,  and  of  this  Flaxman  is  a  conspicuous 
modern  instance.  The  Greeks  had  great  power 
in  the  simple  outline,  as  we  may  judge  from  the 
finer  draughtsmanship  on  their  vases  and  engraved 
mirror-backs,  of  which  good  examples  are  to  be 
found  in  the  British  Museum.^  Probably  the 
single  figures  by  their  greatest  painters,  such  as 
the  Helen  of  Zeuxis,  or  the  Aphrodite  rising 
from  the  Sea  of  Apelles  would  have  presented 
the  most  perfect  use  of  line  that  art  has  ever 
known.  For  expressive  manipulation  of  line,  as 
distinct  from  that  which  aims  chiefly  at  beauty, 
Holbein  is  supreme.  No  graphic  artist  has  ever 
equalled  him  in  the  power  of  analysing  the  com- 
plex impression  of  nature  and  giving  back  what  is 
essential  by  means  of  line  only.  His  studies  in 
line  for  portraits,  preserved  at  Windsor  and 
elsewhere,  are  unsurpassed  in  art  for  the  amount 
that  is  conveyed  in  them  by  the  very  slightest 
means. 

^  See,  for  example,  a  notable  kylix  or  shallow  bowl  from  Kamiros 
in  Rhodes,  representing  in  exquisitely  traced  outline  Aphrodite 
riding  on  a  Swan  (among  the  vases  of  the  finest  period). 


I90         EFFECT   IN   THE   ARTS   OF   FORM 

§  91.  Representation  of  Solid  Form  in  the  Graphic  Art. 

Outline  is  just  the  boundary  of  a  space  of  two 
dimensions,  and  those  outlines  which  we  see,  or 
rather  create  by  a  process  of  abstraction,  in  nature, 
can  be  transferred  directly  to  the  canvas  or  panel. 
The  representation  on  the  other  hand  of  solid  form 
and  of  distance  is  a  somewhat  different  matter, 
and  claims  a  moment's  special  attention. 

We  have  already  seen  that  the  impression  of 
solid  form  and  of  distance  (which  is  just  space  at 
large  in  its  third  dimension)  can  be  conveyed  most 
perfectly  by  the  graphic  artist  when  he  ignores 
them  as  facts,  and  renders  only  the  appearance  of 
the  face  of  nature.  If  he  get  his  patches  of 
light-and-shade  and  colour  exactly  right,  solid 
forms  will  appear  to  stand  out  in  his  picture  as 
they  do  in  nature ;  and  if  the  different  delicate 
gradations  of  tone,  that  are  marked  on  objects  in 
accordance  with  their  relative  distance  from  the 
observer,  be  reproduced  on  the  canvas,  then  the 
eye  will  appear  to  travel  back  through  various 
planes  to  the  most  remote  regions  of  space.  The 
evolution  of  the  graphic  art  however,  both  at 
large  and  in  the  case  of  the  individual  draughts- 
man, shows  us  that  solid  forms  and  distance  only 
come  to  be  properly  represented  as  appearances 
when  the  facts  of  them  are  first  realized  as 
material  truths.  The  artistic  rendering  we  have 
already  considered  only  comes  at  the  end  of  a 
long  process  of  work,  which  consists  in  laboriously 
copying  form  as  form,  and  transferring  the  reced- 
ing  planes  of  nature  to  the  upright  plane  of  the 


FORM   IN   PAINTING  191 

picture  by  a  conscious  effort  of  translation.  It 
may  seem  paradoxical  to  say  so,  but  the  art 
student  is  often  too  conscious  of  what  he  is  doing 
to  do  it  rightly.  It  ought  to  be  no  more  difficult 
for  him  to  draw  a  foreshortened  limb  than  one 
upright  before  him,  and  it  would  not  be  more 
difficult  provided  that  he  were  content  to  delineate 
exactly  what  he  sees  and  that  only.  Through  the 
force  of  habit,  however,  he  persists  in  thinking  all 
the  time  of  the  actual  length  of  the  limb  which  he 
knows  by  experience,  and  will  nearly  always  make 
it  too  long  in  his  drawing  of  its  foreshortened 
aspect.  Similarly,  in  drawing  an  interior  view  or 
a  collection  of  buildings  presenting  various  angles 
to  the  line  of  sight,  he  need  only  attend  to  differ- 
ently shaped  surfaces  and  their  boundaries,  but  he 
cannot  get  it  out  of  his  mind  that  these  surfaces 
are  in  many  cases  not  really  upright  before  him, 
but  receding  more  or  less  sharply  from  his  eye. 
He  mixes  up,  that  is,  considerations  of  the  depth 
he  knows  to  exist  with  those  of  the  extension 
which  is  all  he  really  perceives,  and  feels  helpless 
and  puzzled  till  aided  by  a  certain  device  called 
Perspective,  which  helps  him  to  draw  the  lines 
bounding  these  surfaces  with  correctness,  and 
supplies  him  with  a  certain  set  of  conventions 
applying  to  all  cases  where  forms  of  three  dimen- 
sions have  to  be  represented  on  a  plane  surface  of 
only  two.  He  need  not  necessarily  use  these  con- 
ventional rules  whenever  he  draws  from  nature, 
and  it  will  be  found  in  practice  that  simple 
draughtsmanship,  dependent  on  the  eye  alone, 
will   suffice  for  ordinary  scenes  of  landscape  and 


192         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS   OF  FORM 

sky  with  distant  buildings  and  the  like,  but  will 
not  be  accurate  enough  for  interiors  and  for  near 
architectural  views  full  of  apparently  sloping  lines 
that  converge  or  recede  at  every  possible  angle. 

§  92.  Graphic  delineation  as  aided  by  Perspective. 

It  is  only  in  virtue  of  some  external  help,  some 
suitable  set  of  conventions,  that  the  draughtsman 
of  ordinary  powers,  puzzled  as  he  is  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  things  are  not  as  they  seem  to  be, 
can  get  these  oblique  lines  all  into  their  right 
positions,  and  hence  the  value  of  perspective 
science.  Now  there  are  two  things  that  per- 
spective can  accomplish  for  the  painter.  It 
can  help  him  to  represent  correctly  what  he 
actually  sees  before  him  ;  it  can  also  enable  him 
to  construct  on  his  paper  a  plausible  delineation 
of  objects  not  actually  in  view  or  not  in  existence 
at  all.  The  preliminary  conditions  required  for 
the  orthodox  practice  of  perspective,  are  correct 
knowledge  as  to  the  actual  size,  shape  and  position 
of  all  the  real  or  assumed  objects  to  be  included 
in  the  view.  The  draughtsman  must  have  a 
ground-plan  of  all  that  section  of  nature  em- 
bracing the  objects  in  question,  with  elevations 
drawn  to  scale  of  buildings  and  similar  forms 
introduced.  Where  it  is  only  supposed  objects 
that  are  to  be  drawn,  their  position,  shape  and 
size  must  be  predetermined  with  the  same  clear- 
ness and  accuracy.  Given  these  conditions,  the 
process  of  delineating  the  objects  to  be  copied  or 
constructed  follows  according  to  certain  formulae 
calculated  to  secure  mathematical  correctness  in 


LINEAR  PERSPECTIVE  193 

the  result.  No  reference  need  be  made  to  nature 
at  all.  If  the  plan  and  measurements  give  the 
data  required,  the  process  of  forming  the  repre- 
sentation is  a  purely  mechanical  one  and  in  no 
way  artistic.  We  have  then  this  somewhat 
anomalous  result,  that  a  correct  delineation  of  a 
set  of  complex  objects  in  nature  can  be  produced 
in  two  entirely  different  ways.  One  way  is  by 
pure  draughtsmanship,  the  hand  merely  reproduc- 
ing directly  what  the  eye  sees  without  any  inquiry 
as  to  the  actual  position  or  shape  of  the  objects  ; 
the  other  way  is  by  pure  science,  the  delineation 
being  constructed  piece  by  piece  on  a  basis  of  the 
knowledge  of  this  actual  position  and  shape,  with- 
out any  draughtsmanship  about  the  matter. 

In  the  practical  daily  work  of  the  painter  (as 
distinct  from  that  of  the  architectural  draughts- 
man), the  preliminary  conditions  required  for  the 
orthodox  performance  of  perspective  rites  are  as  a 
rule  unattainable.  He  does  not  possess,  and  will 
not  trouble  himself  to  procure,  the  needful  plans 
and  measurements.  The  service  that  perspective 
will  render  to  him  will  be  of  a  more  rough-and- 
ready  kind.  Its  chief  value  will  be  in  intro- 
ducing a  principle  of  order  and  arrangement 
into  the  complex  network  of  oblique  lines  pre- 
sented, say,  by  a  group  of  buildings  seen  at 
different  angles.  As  a  matter  of  actual  fact 
if  the  draughtsman  went  up  to  and  examined 
the  buildings  in  question  he  would  find  on 
each  a  great  number  of  sets  of  parallel  lines ; 
in  the  case  of  each  elevation  there  would  be  the 
lines  of  base  and  of  cornice  and  of  roof  ridge,  of 

N 


194         EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

all  the  horizontal  string-courses,  of  the  sills  and 
lintels  of  the  windows,  etc.,  all  parallel  to  each 
other — and  so  on  throughout  the  buildings.  Now 
when  the  elevations  are  seen  at  an  angle  these 
lines  are  no  longer  in  appearance  parallel,  but 
perspective  teaches  us  that  they  still  preserve  a 
relation  to  each  other  of  such  a  kind  that  if  we 
can  draw  one  of  them  correctly  we  can  immedi- 
ately go  on  to  draw  all  the  rest.  In  other  words 
perspective  enables  us  in  such  a  case  to  divide  the 
lines  of  a  complex  view  into  certain  groups,  formed 
in  each  case  by  lines  actually  parallel  to  each  other, 
and  to  know  that  when  one  line  of  a  group  is  fixed 
all  the  rest  will  readily  fall  into  their  places  accord- 
ing to  a  predetermined  formula,  all  in  fact  seeming 
to  converge  towards  a  certain  imaginary  point 
called  a  vanishing-point.  There  are  other  ways 
in  which  perspective  offers  practical  help  to  the 
draughtsman  ;  besides  providing  him  with  these 
vanishing  points  to  which  to  draw  his  sloping 
lines,  it  will  enable  him  to  fix  the  proper  height 
for  the  figures  introduced  into  his  picture  on  what- 
ever plane  of  distance  they  stand,  and  in  other 
respects  will  lighten  his  labours.  The  substantial 
aid  which  is  thus  afforded  to  draughtsmanship 
is  sufficiently  attested  by  the  fact  that,  till  the 
science  was  studied  in  the  fifteenth  century,  artists, 
however  sure  of  eye,  had  not  been  able  to  draw 
correctly  the  raking  lines  of  buildings,  or  properly 
reduce  objects  according  to  their  distance.  The 
ancients,  skilled  delineators  though  they  were, 
blundered  over  these  tasks,  and  Pompeian  wall 
paintings  exhibit  the  wildest  mistakes  which  would 


AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE  195 

now  be  impossible  to  any  one  who  could  hold  a 
pencil  at  all.  The  medieval  draughtsmen,  includ- 
ing even  a  Giotto,  were  almost  equally  uncertain  : 
and  the  fact  is  an  additional  proof  of  what  was 
said  above — that  though  it  is  the  ideal  of  the 
graphic  art  to  represent  form  merely  through 
artistic  rendering  of  tone  and  colour,  yet  in  prac- 
tice forrh  must  be  studied  first  as  form,  and  in  the 
light  of  perspective  science,  before  such  free  de- 
lineation becomes  possible. 

§  93.  Aerial  Perspective  and  its  Study. 

The  same  may  be  said  about  the  rendering  of 
distance,  or  the  third  dimension  of  space  at  large. 
The  relative  distance  of  objects  is  mainly  revealed 
by  differences  in  their  light-and-shade  and  colour- 
ing. There  is  less  reflected  light  from  distant 
objects,  less  intensity  of  shade  on  them,  less 
saturation  of  colour.  If  these  gradations  of  tone 
and  of  colour  be  rightly  given,  then  the  effect 
of  distance  is  truly  represented.  It  is  possible 
therefore  to  convey  all  the  effect  of  distance  merely 
by  direct  copying  of  patches  of  tone  and  colour. 
But  here  again  the  history  of  the  art  shows  us 
that  this  direct  rendering  is  the  ultimate  result,  not 
the  beginning  of  painting.  Distance  was  no 
more  correctly  given  in  the  old  time  than  was 
perspective-form.  It  was  simply  ignored  in  favour 
of  the  few  near  objects  which  were  all  the  theme 
of  graphic  art  till  the  fifteenth  century.  Only 
when  the  science  of  rendering  distance,  or  aerial 
perspective  as  it  is  termed,  was  taken  up  and 
made  a  special  subject  of  study  in  the  sixteenth 


196         EFFECT   IN  THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

and  seventeenth  centuries,  did  the  field  of  painting 
come  to  embrace  what  it  embraces  in  modern 
times — the  whole  aspect  of  nature  in  all  its 
infinite  extent  and  variety. 

§  94.  Colour  in  the  Graphic  Art. 

The  foregoing  considerations  will  have  explained 
what  is  meant  by  the  common  statement  that  the 
graphic  art  represents  the  third  dimension  of  space 
and  distance  by  a  convention.  The  statement,  as 
we  now  see,  is  both  true  and  false — true  of  the 
ordinary  mechanical  process  of  drawing,  but  in- 
correct of  the  mature  work  of  the  really  accom- 
plished modern  painter,  whose  rendering  is  not 
conventional  but  direct.  This  will  suffice  on  the 
subject  of  the  rendering  of  Form  in  painting,  and 
there  remain  the  effects  of  Colour  and  Light-and- 
Shade.  These  are  of  course  perfectly  rendered  in 
the  mature  modern  style  of  painting  established 
by  the  practice  of  men  like  Correggio,  Rembrandt 
and  Velasquez,  but  they  are  so  magically  blended 
that  we  can  hardly  say  what  is  light-and-shade 
and  what  is  colour ;  while  in  the  case  of  colour  we 
fail  to  distinguish  separate  primary  or  secondary 
hues,  and  receive  the  impression  of  broken  tints 
combining  into  greys  with  certain  predominant 
tendencies,  rather  than  that  of  positive  pigments 
from  the  paint-box.  There  is  a  science  of  colour 
which  tells  us  how  tints  affect  each  other  by  their 
proximity  or  in  their  succession  one  to  another, 
but  this  science  is  more  a  matter  of  concern  to  the 
decorative  artist  than  to  the  painter  of  pictures. 
The  former  employs  positive  tints  in  comparatively 


COLOUR   IN   PAINTING  197 

large  masses,  and  the  study  of  the  theory  of  colour 
is  to  him  a  distinct  part  of  his  professional  training. 
In  the  cabinet-picture  the  colour-effects  are  so 
subtle  that  only  the  native  artistic  tact  of  the  painter 
can  deal  with  them.  He  may  know,  as  Sir  Charles 
Eastlake  tells  him,  that  'Flesh  is  never  more 
glowing  than  when  opposed  to  blue,  never  more 
pearly  than  when  compared  with  red,  never  ruddier 
than  in  the  neighbourhood  of  green,  never  fairer 
than  when  contrasted  with  black,  nor  richer  or 
deeper  than  when  opposed  to  white,' ^  and  he  will 
use  the  knowledge  by  working  for  combinations  of 
broken  colour  and  not  for  contrasts  of  definite 
tints.  In  fact  it  is  only  in  virtue  of  his  having 
been  born  a  colourist,  that  he  will  know  how  to 
bring  clear  harmonies  out  of  these  varied  notes  in 
all  their  exquisite  gradations.  Rembrandt  is  a 
master-colourist  but  seldom  gives  us  a  patch  of 
positive  tint.  All  his  hues  are  saturated  with  the 
golden  brown  which  flooded  his  palette  and  gives 
the  predominant  colour-effect  of  all  his  canvases. 
Correggio  fuses  his  gayer  and  more  opalescent  tints 
into  the  lovely  greys  of  a  misty  sky  at  dawn,  and 
gives  us  not  so  much  gold  and  pink  and  rose,  as 
golden-greys  flushing  into  red  with  pearly  neutrals 
in  the  half-tints.  Corot  paints  in  greys  just 
kindling  into  more  positive  hues.  A  classic 
instance  of  the  painter's  treatment  of  colour  is 
the  Blue  Boy  by  Gainsborough  at  Grosvenor 
House,  London.  Every  one  knows  the  story  of 
it ;  how  Reynolds  had  laid  down  the  principle 
that  the  chief  mass  of  colour  in  a  picture  could 

Materials^  il.  p.  309, 


198         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS  OF   FORM 

never  be  a  cold  tint  like  blue,  and  how  his  great 
rival  painted  his  portrait  of  Master  Buttall  clad 
entirely  in  that  hue,  as  a  practical  rejoinder.  As 
has  often  been  remarked,  Gainsborough  so  broke 
up  his  blues  with  warm  greens  and  browns  that  the 
effect  of  a  mere  mass  of  the  single  pigment  gives 
place  to  that  of  a  delightful  harmony,  with  blue 
only  as  the  dominant  note. 

It  is  true  that  we  only  find  this  free  and  fluent 
handling  of  colour  among  the  really  great  masters 
of  the  brush.  Both  in  older  and  in  modern  times 
there  have  been  innumerable  graphic  artists  to 
whom  the  name  '  painter '  cannot  be  disallowed, 
who  have  used  colour  in  patches  more  or  less 
distinctly  defined  and  positive  in  hue.  The  old 
painters  before  the  sixteenth  century  employed 
colour  in  this  definite  way,  and  such  was  through- 
out the  practice  of  the  frescoist.  Wherever 
indeed  the  strength  of  painting  lies  in  its  clear 
delineation  of  form,  there  colour  will  be  used 
mainly  in  subordination  thereto,  and  will  serve  to 
mark  the  boundaries  of  forms,  tint  being  laid  over 
against  tint  within  defined  outlines.  Work  of  this 
kind  misses  the  peculiar  charm  of  painting,  of 
which  so  much  has  already  been  said.  It  may 
have  excellent  qualities  of  its  own  but  from  the 
point  of  view  of  pure  painting  it  is  imperfect. 
The  outline  filled  in  with  colour  is  no  more  the 
ideal  of  the  graphic  art  than  is  the  outline  alone. 

On  the  other  hand  painting  may  convey  the 
impression  of  colour  only,  without  any  suggestion 
of  nature.  This  is  the  work  of  the  decorator,  who 
may  provide  for  the  eye,  as  in  oriental  textiles,  a 


TEXTURE   IN   PAINTING  199 

feast  of  colour  of  the  most  delightful  kind  without 
any  hint  of  form.  This  cannot,  however  (see 
§  112),  be  held  to  constitute  a  form  of  painting 
as  a  fine  art.  On  the  one  hand  the  colours  are 
not  so  subtly  broken  and  blended  as  in  advanced 
oil  painting,  and  on  the  other,  there  is  none 
of  that  representation  of  nature  which  is  an 
essential  element  in  the  graphic  art.  There  are 
modern  painters,  such  as  Monticelli,  who  execute 
studies  in  colour  with  very  little  reference  to  the 
forms  of  nature.  Here  we  have  colour  artistically 
broken  and  blended  and  perhaps  a  suggestion  of 
nature,  but  the  slightness  of  the  suggestion  pre- 
cludes such  works  from  ranking  as  fully  developed 
painting. 

§  95.  Texture  in  the  Graphic  Art. 

The  effect  of  texture  in  painting  is  a  necessary 
adjunct  to  the  effect  of  mingled  tone  and  colour 
that  we  enjoy  in  the  finest  manifestations  of  the 
art.  Texture,  as  it  appears  to  the  eye,  results 
from  surface  modulations  of  light-and-shade  so 
minute  as  to  blend  together  in  one  single  impres- 
sion. This  effect  can  be  rendered  perfectly  by  a 
very  skilful  use  of  the  brush,  achieving  what  Sir 
Charles  Eastlake  has  termed  the  combination  of 
*  solidity  of  execution  with  vivacity  and  graces  of 
handling,  the  elasticity  of  surface  which  depends 
on  the  due  balance  of  sharpness  and  softness,  the 
vigorous  touch  and  the  delicate  marking — all  sub- 
servient to  the  truth  of  modelling.'^  When  oil- 
pigment  is  handled  in  this  supreme  fashion  its  own 

^Materialsj  11.  p.  261, 


200         EFFECT   IN   THE  ARTS   OF   FORM 

texture  upon  the  canvas  is  lovely  and  delightful. 
Alfred  Stevens  even  remarks  that  '  the  execution 
of  a  fine  piece  of  painting  is  pleasing  to  the 
touch '  ;^  even  the  way  in  which  it  cracks  reveals 
its  quality.^  Painting  which  has  in  itself  this 
quality  fittingly  renders  the  sensitive  play  of 
surface  on  the  things  of  nature.  Without  actually 
imitating  by  the  texture  of  the  pigment  the  texture 
of  the  object  delineated — a  trick  possible,  but  of 
doubtful  artistic  value — the  paint  can  so  be  laid 
on  the  canvas  as  to  suggest  that  peculiar  beauty 
of  objects  under  certain  accidents  of  lighting, 
which  we  have  seen  to  be  the  special  quality  in 
nature  that  the  graphic  artist  and  he  alone  can 
render. 

§  96.  Light-and-Shade  in  the  Graphic  Art. 

There  remains  the  rendering  by  the  graphic 
art  of  Light-and-Shade.  This  is  so  characteristic  a 
feature  of  the  art  that  in  modern  times  a  special 
form  of  the  graphic  art  has  been  occupied  with 
this  alone.  Up  to  the  fifteenth  century  the  mere 
outline  drawing  or  monochrome  study  had  been 
often  employed  by  itself  for  decorative  or  record- 
ing purposes,  or  else  as  a  first  stage  towards 
painting.  The  more  extended  use  of  Black  and 
White  as  independent  means  of  artistic  expression 
dates  from  about  the  fifteenth  century,  and  was 
connected  then  with  the  invention  of  printing 
and  the  consequent  spread  of  an  interest  in  the 
acquirement    of  knowledge   among  all   classes  of 

^  Impressions  sur  la  Peinture^  Paris,  1886,  No.  cciv. 
"Ibid.  No.  xci. 


LIGHT-AND-SHADE  201 

the  people.  The  earliest  engravings,  especially  in 
Germany,  the  home  of  the  printer's  art  and  seat  of 
the  Reformation,  were  as  a  rule  of  religious  import, 
and  were  issued  singly  or  bound  together  as 
'  block-books,'  the  picture  being  accompanied  by  a 
few  lines  of  illustrative  text.  They  were,  that  is  to 
say,  strictly  delineations,  claiming  attention  by 
reason  of  their  subject  and  not  for  any  formal 
artistic  beauty.  The  technique  by  which  the  first 
engravings  were  produced  was  itself  of  immemorial 
antiquity,  but  had  not  been  employed  for  the 
multiplication  of  designs  on  paper  until  this  epoch. 
The  engraving  was  of  two  kinds  ;  either  incised 
lines  were  cut  with  a  graver  on  a  plate  of  metal, 
or  raised  lines  were  produced  on  a  block  of  wood 
by  the  cutting  away  of  the  surface  in  the  inter- 
mediate portions.  The  incised  or  projecting  lines 
were  then  filled  or  coated  with  ink,  and  the  paper 
to  receive  the  impression  was  pressed  firmly  against 
them.  Now  incised  designs  on  metal  plates  had 
already  been  made  by  the  ancients,  especially  in 
the  form  of  decoration  for  the  backs  of  mirrors, 
and  in  the  medieval  period  such  practice  had 
continued,^  with  the  addition  that  the  incised  lines 
were  often  filled  in  with  a  black  paste  or  cement 
producing  the  so-called  niello-work.  German  and 
Italian  goldsmiths  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 

^  At  the  bases  of  the  '  towers  '  set  round  the  great  crown-light  in 
the  Minster  at  Aachen,  a  work  of  the  twelfth  century,  there  are 
copper-plates  with  incised  designs,  and  it  is  interesting  to  know  that 
impressions  were  actually  taken  from  these  in  a  copper-plate  print- 
ing press  for  publication  in  Bock,  der  Kronktuhter  Kaisers  Friedrich 
Barbarossa^  Leipzig,  1864. 


202         EFFECT   IN    THE   ARTS   OF   FORM 

centuries  made  designs  for  niello  on  plates  of 
silver,  and  may  often  have  taken  proofs  by  inking 
the  lines  and  pressing  paper  against  them,  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  the  effect  of  the  drawing  in 
black.^  Wood-blocks  also,  with  the  lines  of  the 
design  in  relief,  had  been  used  by  the  Egyptians 
and  Romans  as  stamps  for  bricks,  and  further  they 
had  been  employed  during  the  middle  ages  both 
in  the  East  and  the  West  for  stamping  designs  on 
texile  fabrics.  The  plate  and  block  were  therefore 
ready  to  hand,  and  the  novelty  in  the  fifteenth 
century  was  the  use  of  them  to  multiply  impres- 
sions, which  were  then  issued  as  independent 
works  of  art  of  a  popular  kind.  From  this  point 
the  development  of  work  in  black-and-white 
followed  that  of  the  graphic  art  as  a  whole.  It 
began  with  clear  delineation  by  means  of  outlines, 
and  then  advanced  to  the  rendering  of  the  effect 
of  solid  forms  by  means  of  light-and-shade,  in 
which  shape  the  art  was  perfected  by  Albrecht 
Diirer.  It  was  still  selected  near  objects,  rather 
than  the  face  of  nature  as  a  whole  with  all  its 
planes  of  distance,  that  was  represented,  until  the 
art  passed  under  the  hands  of  Rembrandt.  Then 
it  was  that  it  came  as  it  were  to  a  knowledge  of 
itself,  and  developed  at  once  into  an  art  producing 
its  effect  directly  by  means  of  gradations  of  tone, 
though  representing  indirectly  solid  forms  and 
distance.  Such  has  continued  to  be  the  character 
of  the  art  in  modern  times  whenever  it  has  been 

^  Vasari  tells  us  that  this  was  done  (certainly  not  for  the  first  time) 
by  Maso  Finiguerra,  a  Florentine  goldsmith,  about  1460. — Opere, 
ed.  Milanesi,  v.  p.  365,  FUa  di  Marcantonio  Bolognese. 


BLACK-AND-WHITE  DRAWING  203 

employed  in  its  full  scope,  and  in  correspondence 
with  this  are  the  modern  processes  of  etching  and 
mezzotint.  Works  carried  out  in  these  and  other 
similar  processes  differ  from  the  older  line  engrav- 
ings and  wood-cuts  in  the  characteristic  that  they 
represent  masses  of  tone  rather  than  outlines,  and 
though  the  etcher  works  with  a  line  it  is  becoming 
more  and  more  the  custom  to  depend  for  part  of 
the  effect  on  broad  tints  independent  of  lines,  that 
are  produced  by  the  manipulation  of  the  printer. 
The  aim  of  the  etching  and  mezzotint  is  to  repro- 
duce all  that  '  play  of  effect '  over  the  surface  of 
things  already  spoken  of,  with  the  omission  only 
of  colour,  and  as  far  as  possible  they  ignore  mere 
outline. 

Light-and-shade  drawing  has  proved  itself  so 
efficient  in  suggesting  the  forms  and  spaces  of 
nature  by  means  of  tone,  that  the  graphic  artist 
can  now  produce  the  effect  he  desires  by  abbrevia- 
tion. A  rough  sketch  consisting  of  a  few  lines  or 
blots  by  a  skilled  hand  will  convey  to  us  the 
impression  of  form  or  space  or  darkness  and  light. 
The  older  artists  of  the  pre-Rembrandtesque 
period  would  never  have  attempted  anything  of 
the  kind.  What  they  drew  they  delineated'  clearly 
and  completely  so  far  as  their  vehicle  allowed. 
The  moderns  delight  in  feats  such  as  this  described 
of  the  late  Charles  Keene,  to  whom  an  artistic 
friend  watching  him  at  work  in  his  studio  re- 
marked, ' "  I  can't  understand  how  you  produce 
that  effect  of  distance  in  so  small  a  picture."  "  O 
— easy  enough,"  replied  Keene,  "  Look  here," — 
and — he  did  it!     But  when  and  how  he  gave  the 


304    EFFECT  IN  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

touch  which  made  the  effect,  his  friend,  following 
his  work  closely,  was  unable  to  discover.^  Only 
to  the  eyes  of  a  public  well  accustomed  to  delinea- 
tion in  black-and-white  would  these  deft  touches 
of  an  accomplished  draughtsman  appear  to  stand 
for  the  reality  of  nature. 

^F.  C  B.  in  Punch,  17th  January  1891. 


CHAPTER    II 
THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

§  97.  Beauty  and  Significance  in  Works  of  Art 

The  preceding  chapter  has  been  occupied  with  an 
analysis  of  the  impressions  conveyed  to  our  minds 
by  the  several  arts  of  form.  Works  of  art  present  us 
with  effects  of  Mass,  with  Compositions  of  Forms 
and  Lines,  with  a  show  of  Colour  and  of  Light-and- 
Shade.  The  aesthetic  pleasure  we  derive  therefrom 
may  be  analysed  from  the  points  of  view  of  psy- 
chology and  ethics,  but  this  analysis  lies  outside 
the  scope  of  the  present  treatise.  Without  entering 
on  the  philosophy  of  the  subject,  it  may  be  enough 
for  us  here  to  know  that  works  of  formative  art 
do  give  us  pleasure  of  a  disinterested  and  lasting 
kind,  and  this  for  two  reasons ;  partly  because 
they  are  beautiful^  and  partly  because  they  are 
significant. 

This  association  of  significance  with  beauty  as 
elements  of  effect  in  the  arts  of  form,  is  opposed  to 
the  view  of  some  modern  critics,  who  assert  that  a 
work  of  art  should  be  beautiful  and  nothing  more. 


2o6      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

« 

The  argument  on  which  they  chiefly  rely  to 
support  this  view  is  derived  from  the  art  of  music. 
As  music,  they  say,  delights  the  ear  by  a  succes- 
sion of  lovely  sounds,  so  architecture,  painting  and 
sculpture  should  delight  the  eye  by  lovely  forms 
and  hues.  As  the  sounds  of  music  are  mere 
sounds  and  mean  nothing,  so  the  colours  and 
forms  in  question  should  be  colours  and  forms  and 
nothing  more.^  That  they  express  or  symbolize 
ideas,  or  represent  anything  in  nature,  is  an  un- 
toward accident,  to  be  as  far  as  possible  ignored 
A  picture,  according  to  this  theory,  should  be  as 
much  as  possible  like  a  Persian  carpet,  and  present 
a  beautiful  combination  of  colours  and  pleasing 
harmony  of  tones,  without  any  complications  aris- 
ing from  *  subject '  or  truthfulness  to  nature,  while 
architecture  and  sculpture  should  offer  agreeable 
combinations  of  lines  and  masses,  without  dabbling 
in  symbolism  or  idealization  of  the  human  form. 

Fully  to  discuss  the  questions  thus  raised  would 
require  a  volume,  and  it  will  only  be  p^sl^le  here 
to  bring  forward  one  or  two  reasons  for  retaining 
the  term  *  significance '  side  by  s^^^rfth-^^^t  of 
*  beauty'  in  the  connection  jil^^  jSbicated.  The 
theory  under  consideration  possess  an  attractive 
simplicity,  but  the  facts  of  life  render  it  nugatory. 
If  painting   and   sculpture  were   to   cease  to  re- 

*  *  As  music  is  the  poetry  of  sound,  so  is  painting  the  poetry  of 
sight,  and  the  subject-matter  has  nothing  to  do  with  harmony  of 
sound  or  of  colour.  .  .  .  Art  .  .  .  should  stand  alone,  and  appeal 
to  the  artistic  sense  of  eye  or  ear,  without  confounding  this  with 
emotions  entirely  foreign  to  it,  as  devotion,  pity,  love,  patriotism, 
and  the  like.'— J.  M'Neill  Whistler,  The  Gentle  Art  of  Making 
Enemies^  London,  mdcccxc,  p.  127. 


NATURAL   SYMBOLISM  207 

produce  the  scenes  and  objects  of  nature,  and 
architecture  to  minister  to  the  real  or  ideal  needs 
of  men,  such  a  theory  of  the  arts  of  form  might 
suffice.  As  it  is,  however,  the  shapes  and  tones 
and  colours  presented  in  the  arts  of  form  are  not 
merely  visual  impressions,  but  are  continually 
appealing  to  trains  of  association  in  our  minds. 
Around  the  persons  or  scenes  or  objects,  of  which 
the  counterfeit  presentment  comes  before  us  in 
painting  and  sculpture,  we  have  woven  associations 
of  pleasure  or  pain  or  interest,  so  that  they  have 
become  to  us  no  longer  mere  things  but  part  of 
the  furniture  of  our  intellectual  and  moral  life. 
The  divisions  of  the  architectural  mass,  on  which 
the  beauty  of  its  composition  depends,  are  condi- 
tioned by  the  social  purposes  which  the  interior 
spaces  have  to  serve,  and  with  these  purposes  we 
are  more  or  less  familiar  and  sympathetic.  We 
cannot  therefore  look  on  the  counterfeit  present- 
ments, or  on  the  divisions  of  the  edifice,  without 
some  stir  of  memory  or  anticipation  which  testifies 
to  the  human  interest  with  which  they  are  charged. 
These  associations  exist  indeed  in  connection  with 
almost  everything  that  can  be  seen  or  suggested 
alike  in  nature  and  in  art. 

§  98.  Art  is  Significant  as  appealing  to  Natural 
Symbolism;  (A)  in  Light  and  Colour, 

This  being  the  case,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
any  of  our  impressions  of  tones  or  colours  or 
forms  are  really  simple  and  immediate,  and  not 
rather  in  each  case  complicated  by  an  element  of 
association  which  contributes  to  the  ultimate  effect 


2o8      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

on  our  minds.  Wundt  remarks  that  'many 
psychologists  .  .  .  assert  that  every  sensation 
arouses  some  accompanying  ideas,  and  that  the 
affective  action  of  the  sensation  is  due  in  every 
case  to  these  ideas/  ^  but  this  distinguished 
authority  does  not  share  this  view.  Analysing 
the  impressions  of  light  and  colour  and  form,  he 
finds  in  them  an  immediate  element  by  which  they 
affect  us  in  independence  of  recollection,  and  the 
possibility  of  this  must  be  admitted  in  any  account 
of  the  different  kinds  of  pleasure  we  take  in  a 
work  of  art.  It  will  save  confusion  if  this  whole 
subject  be  briefly  dealt  with  in  the  present  and 
following  sections,  though  in  strictness  our  seem- 
ingly direct  impressions  of  light,  colour  and  form 
should  receive  their  notice  in  the  chapter  on  the 
Work  of  Art  as  Beautiful. 

The  simplest  impression  we  derive  through  the 
sense  of  vision  is  that  of  light.  The  unconstrained 
exercise  of  any  power  that  is  in  good  working 
order  and  responds  to  a  normal  stimulus  is  pleasur- 
able, and  accordingly  light  that  is  not  too  strong 
gives  pleasure  through  the  sense  of  seeing.  The 
apprehension  of  differences  in  the  amount  of  light 
reflected  from  surfaces,  and  the  comparison  of  these, 
may  also  be  pleasant,  and  at  times  shadow  may 
be  grateful  as  a  rest  from  light.  It  is  surprising 
however  how  soon  this  simple  satisfaction  in  the 
exercise  of  the  sensory  faculties  passes  into  im- 
pressions of  a  more  complex  kind  in  which  there 
is  present  a  certain  intellectual  element.     In  the 

^  Otitlines  of  PsycJwlogy^  American  translation,  Leipzig,  London 
and  New  York,  1897,  p  77. 


IN   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  209 

beginning  the  greater  or  less  illumination  of  a  sur- 
face is  a  merely  physical  fact  which  brings  about 
corresponding  photo-chemical  changes  in  the  deli- 
cate retinal  apparatus  of  the  eye.  But  with  our 
consciousness  of  these  will  probably  be  associated 

*  subjective  complements  of  the  sensations,'  ^  that 
is,  some  memories  of  former  impressions  or  some 
related  ideas  which  mix  with  and  modify  the  total 
effect.  For  example,  the  words  *  light '  and  *  dark ' 
express  certain  physical  facts  that  can  be  scientifi- 
cally measured  ;  '  high- '  and  *  low-in-tone '  give 
the  equivalents  in  the  technical  language  of  the 
painter ;   but  if  we  adopt  instead  the  synonyms 

*  bright '  and  '  gloomy '  we  feel  that  there  has 
crept  in  a  certain  ethical  significance.  It  is  im- 
possible to  dissociate  ideas  of  an  ethical  kind  from 
the  daylight  and  the  night,  the  dawn  and  the 
twilight,  and  a  certain  suggestion  of  these  ideas 
connects  itself  with  our  apprehension  of  light  and 
dark  in  tone-studies.  In  such  studies  as  the  etch- 
ings of  Rembrandt  or  Turner's  mezzotints  in  the 
Liber  Studiorum^  the  mere  contrasts  and  transitions 
are  apprehended  with  a  sort  of  physical  pleasure 
which  is  quickened  to  artistic  appreciation  as  we 
note  the  skill  with  which  the  tone-composition  is 
carried  out,  while  over  and  above  this  the  senti- 
ment of  the  piece,  in  its  appeal  to  all  the  ethical 
content  of  the  ideas  of  gloom  and  radiance,  will 
carry  the  impression  of  it  up  into  the  higher 
regions  of  consciousness.^ 

iWundt,  Ibid.  p.  74. 

^Yrio  Him  writes  of  'the  melancholy  which  can  be  expressed, 
without  any  anthropomorphic  element,  by  a  mere  relation  between 
light  and  shadow.' — Origins  of  Art  ^  p.  138. 

O 


2IO    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

Next  to  the  impressions  of  achromatic  light, 
those  of  chromatic  light,  or  colour,  are  the  simplest 
and  most  direct  of  all  which  come  to  us  from 
works  of  art.  It  is  a  fact  to  which  all  persons  of 
artistic  sensibility  will  testify,  that  certain  colours 
are  pleasurable  in  themselves,  without  there  being 
any  question  of  harmony  or  contrast  of  tints. 
Others  are  in  themselves  harsh  and  unpleasing, 
and  such  persons  suffer  positive  pain  when  con- 
fronted with  old-fashioned  aniline  mauve  or 
magenta  dyes.  There  is  a  third  kind  of  tints,  the 
so-called  neutrals,  to  which  most  people  will  be 
merely  indifferent  but  among  which  the  artistic 
eye  will  discriminate  the  most  delicate  nuances^ 
classifying  them  as  pleasing  or  the  opposite.  It 
would  be  interesting  to  obtain  a  full  explanation 
of  these  different  impressions  from  the  point  of 
view  of  physiological  optics,  but  even  on  a  super- 
ficial view  we  can  understand  in  general  how  a 
pure,  deep,  saturated  colour,  such  as  the  crimson 
of  oriental  silks,  may  excite  those  parts  of  the 
retina  which  are  sensitive  to  red  abundantly  but 
without  over-strain  or  any  confusing  bye-  or 
counter-stimulus,  and  so  result  in  pleasure ;  while 
other  hues  produce  a  languid  stimulus,  or  else  a 
conflict  or  confusion  of  stimuli,  the  effect  of  which 
will  be  similar  to  an  unmusical  sound  or  a  discord 
in  the  case  of  the  sense  of  hearing. 

With  colours,  however,  are  very  closely  though 
not  indissolubly  associated  the  ideas  of  coloured 
objects^  and  in  these  cases  the  notion  of  the  object 
comes  in  to  mingle  with  our  impression  of  the  hue. 
Wundt  considers  that  pure  impressions  of  colour 


AND   IN   COLOUR  2II 

without  any  thought  of  objects  are  possible,  for 
the  hues  of  the  spectrum  which  as  colours  are 
highly  effective  are  *  generally  very  different  from 
those  of  the  natural  objects  to  which  accompany- 
ing feelings  might  refer/ ^  He  admits  neverthe- 
less that  *  the  sensation  green  arouses  almost 
unavoidably  the  idea  of  green  vegetation,  and 
since  there  are  connected  with  this  idea  composite 
feelings  whose  character  may  be  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  the  affective  tone  of  the  colour  itself,  it  is 
impossible  to  determine  directly  whether  the  feel- 
ing observed  when  a  green  impression  is  presented, 
is  a  pure  affective  tone,  a  feeling  aroused  by  the 
attending  idea,  or  a  combination  of  both/  ^ 

Hence  a  natural  symbolism  attaches  to  colour 
in  the  same  way  as  to  grades  of  light  and  shadow. 
This  is  illustrated  in  the  popular  distinction  be- 
tween *  warm  '  colours  and  '  cold/  The  source  of 
the  distinction  is  probably  to  be  found  in  associa- 
tions formed  in  the  remotest  past  of  the  race. 
The  *  warm '  colours,  represented  centrally  by 
reddish-yellow,  are  connected  with  sunshine  and 
the  physical  quickening  of  human  life  and  unfold- 
ing of  nature's  products,  and  the  association  of 
ideas  thus  brought  about  modifies  our  direct 
impression  of  such  colours  without  our  being  con- 
scious of  the  process.  We  might  suspect  some 
inherent  physiological  virtue  in  the  special  colour 
red,  attested  by  the  effect  of  it  upon  certain 
animals  and  by  the  fact  that  their  secondary 
marks  of  sex,  as  in  the  comb  of  the  cock,  are  so 
often  marked  with  it.      It  may  very  well  however 

1  Ibid.  p.  77.  3  Ibid,  p.  76. 


212    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

be  that  the  exciting  character  of  the  colour 
among  men  is  partially  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is 
the  colour  of  blood,  just  as  green  may  through 
its  suggestion  of  vegetation  affect  us  with  a  sense 
of  pleasantness  and  quiet.  Red  at  any  rate 
(partly  perhaps  through  its  commonness  as  a 
pigment)  is  the  most  popular  of  all  colours  in 
decoration  among  primitive  peoples,  and  was  used 
at  a  very  remote  period  for  the  loving  embellish- 
ment of  the  bones  of  departed  kinsfolk.^ 

§  99.  (B)  and  in  Form. 

Our  quasi-direct  impressions  of  form  are  more 
susceptible  of  analysis  than  those  of  single  colours, 
for  the  former  are  gained  not  merely  by  the 
reception  of  an  image  on  the  retina  but  by  the 
actual  movement  of  the  eyeball,  which  is  an  affair 
of  muscular  effort  more  or  less  measurable.  We 
are  not  dealing  here  with  the  apprehension  of 
solid  form ^  that  is  form  in  all  three  dimensions  at 
once,  though  there  is  a  natural  symbolism  here 
that  accounts  for  much  in  the  artistic  impression 
of  architecture,  and  will  be  noticed  in  subsequent 
sections  (§§  loi  f).  The  formation  of  our  im- 
pression of  solid  form  is  a  complicated  matter,  and 
depends  partly  on  binocular  vision,  or  the  seeing 
with  two  eyes  at  once,  partly  on  our  experience  of 
the  sense  of  touch,  partly  on  that  of  bodily  motion 
from  place  to  place.  The  apprehension  of  form 
in  two  dimensions,  that  is  of  a  surface  with  definite 
contours,  is  much  simpler,  but  involves  muscular 
movements  of  the  eye  as  well  as  activity  in    the 

^  Grosse,  die  Anfdnge  der  Kunsl,  p.  5S  f. 


AND    IN    FORM  213 

retina.  This  act  of  vision  is  well  described  in  the 
following  words  : 

*  In  the  process  of  seeing,  the  eye  in  continual 
movement  passes  over  the  whole  object  fixing  it 
at  every  point,  either  following  its  contours  or 
attracted  by  the  varying  impressions  of  light, 
which,  vaguely  apparent  in  different  parts,  are 
sufficient  to  attract  the  attention  to  themselves. 
At  no  point  does  the  glance  dwell,  but  it  returns 
rapidly  to  every  point  passed,  so  that  gradually 
there  are  formed  more  or  less  lively  reminiscences 
of  each  part,  out  of  which  the  resulting  complete 
impression  is  put  together.  The  facility  of  the  eye 
in  accomplishing  these  journeys  is  so  great  that  the 
details  of  the  process  quite  escape  our  conscious- 
ness.' ^ 

Now  it  is  held  by  some  authorities  that  esthetic 
pleasure  and  pain  depend  on  the  way  in  which 
these  changes  and  movements  are  made,  and  the 
matter,  according  to  Herbert  Spencer,  stands  some- 
what as  follows.  We  have  to  take  as  our 
starting-point  the  familiar  sense  of  gratification  we 
experience  when  we  exercise  freely  and  to  the  full, 
but  without  straining  it,  any  of  our  bodily  powers. 
If  the  movement  be  natural  and  easy  and  not 
persisted  in  when  fatigue  has  begun,  this  pleasure 
is  its  concomitant,  but  if  on  the  contrary  it  be 
jerky,  constrained,  or  too  long  continued,  there 
results  discomfort  or  pain.  The  case  is  exactly 
the  same  with  those  delicate  and  sensitive  fibres 
that  are  connected  with  the  organs  of  sight  and 

^Guido  Hauck,  die  Subjective  Perspective ^  ^tc^  Stuttgart,  1879, 
p.  7. 


214    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

hearing.  The  small  muscles  which  move  the  eye 
in  those  rapid  journeys  over  the  objects  of  vision 
just  described,  have  their  own  minute  sentiments 
of  satisfaction  and  discomfort,  and  manage  to 
make  these  tell  for  much  more  than  might  have 
been  expected  in  that  wonderful  laboratory  of  the 
brain,  where,  out  of  stimulus  to  nerves  and  chemical 
or  mechanical  changes,  are  fabricated  those  wholly 
different  products  we  call  pleasure  and  pain.  In 
other  words  the  act  of  apprehending  the  form  of  a 
surface  with  definite  contours  involves  muscular 
movements  of  the  organs  of  vision,  and  these  come 
under  the  law  that  the  exercise  of  bodily  powers 
is  under  certain  conditions  pleasurable,  under  other 
conditions  the  reverse.  As  an  aesthetic  fact  the 
curve  is  in  itself  undoubtedly  more  pleasing  than 
the  straight  line,  and  this  may  depend  on  the 
physiological  truth  that,  as  the  muscles  of  the  eye- 
ball are  arranged,  it  requires  a  special  effort 
involving  some  constraint  to  make  the  eye  follow 
a  straight  line,  while,  as  stated  by  Wundt,  *  a 
line  of  gentle  curvature  is  the  line  of  movement 
most  easy  for  the  eye  to  traverse.'^  So  too 
the  difference  between  a  rich  full  curve  and  a 
poor  one,  though  quantitatively  very  small,  may 
be  felt  and  estimated  by  the  fastidious  organs  of 
vision. 

The  sensitiveness  of  the  artistically  trained  eye 
to  form  is  as  great  as  it  is  to  colour.  There  may 
be  two  forms,  say  two  vases,  that  are  of  about  the 
same  size  and  shape  but  of  which  one  is  to  this 

"^  EUments  de  Psychologie  Physiologiqtte^  Paris,  1886,  11.  p.  208 
(Translated  from  the  German). 


OPTICAL  ILLUSIONS  215 

eye  exquisitely  beautiful,  the  other  commonplace. 
So  too  there  may  be  a  collection  of  male  portraits 
each  in  sable  garb,  and  while  the  ordinary  observer 
receives  from  all  alike  the  single  impression 
*  black,'  the  glance  of  the  artist  will  detect  qualita- 
tive differences  that  give  some  of  these  '  blacks  '  an 
artistic  value  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  rest.  It 
seems  hard  to  believe  that  the  muscular  move- 
ments round  the  eyeball,  and  the  impressions  in 
the  optic  nerve,  are  so  different  in  these  cases  as 
to  account  for  the  varying  artistic  impressions,  and 
it  is  not  unnatural  to  find  the  idea  of  '  subjective 
complements  of  the  sensations  '  invoked  as  possible 
explanations  of  the  phenomena.  The  following  is 
from  this  point  of  view  instructive. 

There  is  nothing  about  which  experts  in  physio- 
logical optics  are  more  sure  than  about  the 
physical  reason  for  certain  familiar  illusions  of 
vision.  One  of  these  is  our  tendency  to  over- 
estimate the  height  of  a  vertical  line  as  against  a 
horizontal.  Wundt  states  that  *  a  vertical  straight 
line  is  judged  on  the  average  one-sixth  too  long  as 
compared  with  an  equal  horizontal  line,*  ^  so  that 
most  people  in  drawing  a  square  by  the  eye  will 
not  make  it  high  enough,  and  if  they  estimate  the 
relative  size  of  the  sides  of  a  true  square  will  think 
it  higher  than  it  is  broad.  This  is  explained  by 
the  fact  that  the  muscles  of  the  eye  act  more 
easily  laterally  (that  is  in  moving  the  eyeball  along 
a  horizontal  line)  than  up  and  down.  Hence  when 
we  measure  by  the  eye  a  vertical  line  we  are 
giving  the  muscles  more  trouble  than  when  we 

^  Outlines i  p.  123. 


2i6    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

measure  a  horizontal  one  of  the  same  length,  and 
in  translating  the  muscular  effort  into  terms  of 
distance,  according  to  the  established  normal 
relation,  we  arrive  at  results  that  are  slightly 
inaccurate,  and  imagine  the  vertical  line  to  be 
longer  than  the  horizontal  one.  Recently  however, 
an  entirely  different  account  of  this  same 
phenomenon  has  been  offered  in  the  Esthetic  of 
Space  by  Professor  Lipps  of  Munich.^  He 
suggests  that  verticality  gives  us  the  intellectual 
impression  of  an  effort  made  to  overcome  gravity 
and  to  keep  upright,  and  that  this  leads  us 
unconsciously  to  magnify  the  dimension  with 
which  this  sense  of  effort  is  connected.  We 
sympathize,  he  says,  with  the  column-shaft  in  its 
stiffening  of  itself  to  keep  upright  and  fancy  it 
taller  than  it  really  is. 

A  consideration  of  the  above  will  incline  us  to 
admit  the  possibility  that  this  natural  symbolism 
in  forms  accounts  at  any  rate  in  part  for  the 
aesthetic  impressions  we  receive  from  them.  There 
is  for  example  an  ethical  suggestion  which  belongs 
to  the  ideas  *  up  '  and  *  down  '  or  '  lower '  and 
*  higher,'  and  this  lends  a  corresponding  signifi- 
cance to  the  general  disposition  of  architectural 
masses.  An  architectural  style  in  which  the  main 
lines  are  parallel  to  the  earth,  as  in  Egyptian  work 
and  Greek,  carries  with  it  at  once  a  different  kind 
of  ethical  association  from  that  attaching  to  a 
style  in  which,  as  in  Gothic,  the  dominant  lines  are 
vertical  and  the  masses  terminate  above  in  upward- 
striving  slender  spires  and  pinnacles.     Association, 

"^  Raumaesthetik^  Leipzig,  1897,  pp.  7,  104. 


THE   FORCE   OF  ASSOCIATION  217 

moreover,  plays  its  part  in  our  appreciation  of  the 
rounded  forms  presented  in  sculpture  or  in  certain 
productions  of  industrial  art.  In  the  case,  for 
example,  of  the  contour  of  a  fine  Grecian  vase, 
there  is,  as  we  have  seen,  a  certain  physiological 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  its  contemplation 
that  is  quite  direct  and  independent  of  subsidiary 
ideas,  but  already  when  the  eye,  after  tracing  with 
satisfaction  the  enclosing  line,  has  conveyed  to  the 
mind  what  becomes  the  impression  of  a  rounded 
body,  there  have  been  called  up  associations 
connected  with  other  rounded  forms  of  which  we 
have  had  past  experience,  such  as  those  of  the 
human  frame,  or  even  more  specially  of  the 
nurturing  bosom,  and  these  modify  the  general 
impression.  We  may  say,  indeed,  adopting  words 
from  Shelley's  song,  that 

*  Nothing  in  the  world  is  single  ; 
All  things  by  a  law  divine 
In  one  another's  being  mingle.' 

The  latent  affinities  and  associations  which  bind 
things  together  are  to  the  poet  the  chief  source  of 
his  thoughts,  and  verse  never  more  perfectly  fulfils 
its  function  than  when  it  is  making  them  under- 
stood with  clearness  and  force.  A  function  of  the 
same  kind  belongs  to  the  arts  of  form,  and  there 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  seek  to  eliminate  from 
the  sources  of  artistic  expression  all  appeal  to  this 
natural  symbolism,  through  which  we  are  bound  by 
innumerable  links  of  interest  and  affection  to  the 
world  around. 


2i8    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

§  100.  Rejection  of  the  Counter-Theory  that  Formal 
Beauty  is  the  only  true  artistic  quality. 

The  discussions  in  this  chapter  will,  it  is 
believed,  justify  the  statement  made  at  the  outset, 
that  works  of  art  delight  us  for  two  reasons^  partly 
because  they  are  beautiful^  and  partly  because  they 
are  significant.  It  is  not  denied  here  for  a 
moment  that  there  may  be  formal  aesthetic 
pleasure  without  the  existence,  at  any  rate  to  our 
own  consciousness,  of  any  intellectual  or  moral 
element.  Music  often  affords  such  pleasure  and 
so  do  the  arts  of  form ;  the  mistake  is  to  pretend 
that  such  formal  pleasure  is  the  only  legitimate 
gratification  to  be  derived  from  art — that  we 
adopt  an  inartistic  attitude  when  we  recognize  or 
look  for  in  a  work  of  art  any  elements  appealing 
to  thought  or  sentiment.  Though  at  times  we 
receive  from  such  a  work  an  impression  of  delight 
that  seems  as  direct  and  simple  as  the  taste  of  a 
sweet  substance  to  the  palate,  yet  in  most  cases 
the  impression  is  of  a  complex  kind,  and  depends 
upon  the  association  of  ideas  or  upon  a  process  of 
reflection  so  rapid  as  to  pass  without  our  conscious 
participation.  The  word  'beautiful'  may  be  taken 
to  apply  to  those  impressions  of  a  formal  kind 
that  may  fairly  be  described  as  immediate,  while 
we  use  the  term  *  significant '  for  those  that  have 
a  larger  separable  element  of  association  and  reflec- 
tion. For  this  distinction  no  scientific  precision  is 
claimed.  It  is  adopted  as  a  practical  measure  in 
favour  of  that  clearness  which  in  a  complicated  dis- 
cussion of  this  kind  is  not  easy  to  secure. 


ARCHITECTURE  AS   SIGNIFICANT  219 


§  101.  The  Architectural  Monument  as  a  significant 
Work  of  Art. 

In  considering  now  the  work  of  art  in  these 
two  aspects,  we  will  regard  it  first  from  the  point 
of  view  of  its  significance.  It  will  be  convenient 
to  separate  the  impression  produced  by  the 
artistic  unity  in  itself  in  its  broadest  and  most 
general  aspect,  from  that  due  to  the  Composition 
of  the  parts  that  make  it  up.  It  is  in  architecture 
that  this  distinction  is  most  clearly  apparent,  for 
in  architecture  the  monument  as  a  whole  possesses 
an  artistic  character  quite  independent  of  the  re- 
lation of  its  parts.  As  a  type  therefore  of  the 
single,  strong  and  immediate  impression  which  can 
be  conveyed  by  a  work  of  art  as  a  whole,  let  us 
take  that  of  a  vast  and  beautiful  building,  into  the 
presence  of  which  we  are  suddenly  brought.  The 
writer  well  remembers  his  first  sight  of  the  western 
facade  of  Rheims  Cathedral.  Arriving  late,  he  had 
been  driven  to  his  hotel  without  any  idea  of  its 
situation,  and  far  on  in  the  night,  throwing  back 
the  Venetian  shutters  had  gazed  unsuspectingly 
forth  across  the  moonlit  street.  There,  in  front, 
beyond  the  little  Place,  buttressed  with  gloom  but 
bathed  above  in  silver  radiance,  stood  one  of  the 
most  splendid  monuments  of  medieval  art.  All 
about  it  was  silent  and  motionless  ;  the  vision  had 
burst  unexpectedly  upon  the  sight ;  it  was  a 
moment  to  test  the  strength  and  character  of  the 
main  artistic  impression  immediately  derived  from 
such  a  work. 


220    THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

§  102.  Tlie  first  essentials  of  Architectural  Effect ;  Mass, 

The  reader  who  remembers  similar  experiences 
will  agree  that  such  an  impression  is  primarily  one 
of  greatness,  of  mass.  The  eye  is  filled  with  an 
imposing  presence  ;  what  we  perceive  is  a  structure 
vast  beyond  the  measure  of  its  surroundings,  vast 
beyond  the  scale  of  the  works  of  men,  and  akin 
rather  to  the  colossal  forms  of  the  material  uni- 
verse. The  particular  shape  and  contour  of  the 
mass,  its  inner  divisions,  the  relation  of  its  parts, 
the  light  and  shade  and  colour  that  chequer  or 
play  about  its  surface — these  all  escape  us,  and  for 
the  moment  such  inquiry  into  detail  seems  even 
trivial  in  face  of  the  awe-inspiring  height  and 
breadth  of  the  whole.  This  is  then  the  first 
essential  of  architectural  effect — that  which  Mr. 
Sedding  once  picturesquely  described  as  the  *  sheer 
weight  and  vigour  of  masses  .  .  .  employed  as  an 
attribute  of  expression, — the  undivided  weight  of 
solid  stone,  colossal  scale,  broad  sunshine,  and  un- 
relieved gloom.* 

§  103.  and  Stability. 

*  The  first  and  most  obvious  element  of  archi- 
tectural grandeur,'  writes  James  Fergusson,  *  is 
size — a  large  edifice  being  always  more  imposing 
than  a  small  one,'  and  he  adds  soon  afterwards, 
*  next  to  size  the  most  important  element  is  sta- 
bility.' Magnitude  and  stability  may  be  included 
together  under  the  single  term  *  mass,'  which  we 
may  accordingly  take  as  the  primary  element  of 
artistic  effect  in  architecture. 


ARCHITECTURAL   SUBLIMITY  221 

Stability  the  writer  last  quoted  explains  as  *  that 
excess  of  strength  over  mere  mechanical  require- 
ment which  is  necessary  thoroughly  to  satisfy  the 
mind,  and  to  give  to  the  building  a  monumental 
character,  with  an  appearance  that  it  could  resist 
the  shocks  of  time  or  the  violence  of  man  for  ages 
yet  to  come,'  ^  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  im- 
pression of  immovable,  rock-like  strength  mingles 
very  readily  with  our  apprehension  of  the  greatness 
of  an  architectural  monument,  and  combines  with 
it  to  convey  the  aesthetic  idea  of  Sublimity — an 
idea,  it  will  be  observed,  that  certainly  does  not 
come  under  the  head  of  mere  *  pleasure  of  the  eye/ 

§  104.  Architectural  Sublimity  involves  the  idea  of  Power, 
and  of  the  Supremacy  of  Intelligence  over  Matter. 

It  must  be  noticed,  moreover,  that  in  the  aesthetic 
effect  of  architecture  the  idea  of  power  mingles  in 
very  many  cases  with  that  of  mere  magnitude  and 
mass.  A  great  building  suggests  in  a  moment 
severe  and  long-continued  human  toil,  and,  what  is 
more,  the  supremacy  of  intelligence  over  matter. 
The  Egyptian  Pyramid  is  sublime,  partly  through 
its  actual  size  and  stability,  but  partly  also  through 
our  consciousness  of  the  prodigious  labour  without 
which  it  could  not  have  been  reared,  and  of  the 
sovereign  authority  that  could  impose  such  toil 
and  be  obeyed.  There  are  many  architectural  and 
engineering  structures  that  may  be  justly  called 
*  sublime,'  in  which  it  is  not  the  mere  mass  and 
weight  of  material  that  is  impressive,  so  much  as 
the  bold   and  skilful  disposition  of  it.     Such  for 

^  History  of  Architecture^  2d  ed.  London,  1874,  !•  PP*  16,  17. 


222    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

example  are  the  Forth  Bridge  and  the  Eiffel 
Tower.  There  might  be  a  far  greater  actual  mass 
of  material  in  a  structure,  say,  of  the  form  of  the 
Tay  Bridge,  but  no  grandeur,  no  sublimity,  because 
no  boldness.  Such  a  simple  affair,  one  feels, 
might  be  prolonged  to  any  length — there  was  talk 
of  a  bridge  twenty  miles  long  over  the  marshy 
approaches  to  the  Danube — it  is  a  mere  matter  of 
so  many  tons  of  steel  and  so  many  companies  of 
workmen.  The  former  on  the  other  hand  are  only 
possible  through  the  concerted  action  of  different 
constructive  members  towards  a  common  end, 
reached  only  by  a  daring  and  sustained  effort. 
This  is  undoubtedly  an  aesthetic  impression — an 
impression  of  the  sublime  of  power — and  some- 
thing of  the  same  discernment  of  a  triumph  of 
skill  over  matter  plays  its  part  in  our  appreciation 
of  an  architectural  monument  like  the  Gothic 
cathedral.  The  height  and  the  slenderness  of  the 
structure  are  not  apprehended  without  a  sense  of 
the  power  of  the  builder  over  mechanical  diffi- 
culties, which  mingles  with  the  simpler,  more  direct 
impression  of  elevation  and  extent.  It  must  of 
course  be  understood  that  where  boldness  is  carried 
too  far  and  destroys  the  impression  of  stability,  there 
is  a  contradiction  which  mars  the  aesthetic  effect. 
This  is  perhaps  the  case  in  some  Gothic  struc- 
tures, such  as  the  marvellous  choir  of  Beauvais. 

§  105.  The  Significance  of  Architectural  Styles, 

What  has  now  been  said  applies  to  all  archi- 
tectural monuments  without  any  distinction  of 
styles.     The  general  attributes  we  have  been  con- 


HISTORICAL  STYLES  223 

sidering  belong  to  architecture  as  architecture,  and 
not  to  special  classes  of  buildings  Greek  or  Gothic, 
sacred  or  profane.  It  has  been  already  hinted 
that  a  *  natural  symbolism '  attaches  to  the  differ- 
ent forms  predominant  in  successive  architectural 
styles — Egyptian,  Greek,  Roman,  Romanesque, 
Gothic,  Palladian  and  the  rest,  and  also  that  the 
social  and  religious  conditions  under  which  these 
styles  arose  and  were  developed  found  expression 
in  the  general  character  of  the  buildings.  This 
subject  has  however  been  treated  so  fully  and  so 
eloquently  by  Mr.  Ruskin  and  many  others,  that  it 
may  be  passed  over  here.  Hegel  in  his  j^sthetic'^ 
has  some  interesting  remarks  on  old  oriental, 
especially  Egyptian,  monuments,  as  expressive  of 
the  grand  but  vague  conceptions  through  which 
the  human  spirit  was  in  those  epochs  beginning  to 
lift  itself  from  the  earth  into  the  life  of  reason  and 
order.  Edward  Freeman  in  his  History  of  Archi- 
tecture has  an  excellent  chapter  on  the  difference 
in  general  symbolic  character  between  Greek  and 
Gothic  architecture.^  Semper,  in  many  passages 
of  der  Stily  shows  a  just  appreciation — not  always 
accorded  by  modern  critics — of  the  princely  dignity 
of  fine  Renaissance  buildings.  On  Roman  work 
the  writer  may  be  permitted  to  quote  a  sentence 
from  an  essay  of  his  own  on  early  Christian  archi- 
tecture. *  Rome  strove  to  make  4  unity  of  the 
whole  world  of  her  possessions.  She  not  only 
conquered  and  incorporated  in  her  own  body- 
politic  the  nations,  but  she  united  them  by  her 

^  On  the  *  Symbolic  form  of  Art,'  and  on  *  Symbolic  Architecture.' 
*  London,  1849,  book  i.  part  ii.  chap.  iv. 


224    THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

bridges  and  roads  which  abolished  natural  barriers, 
and  brought  distant  provinces  into  connection. 
Her  mighty  aqueducts  which  traverse  the  plains  in 
monotonous  succession  of  arches  towards  the  walls 
of  her  cities  ;  her  amphitheatres,  with  their  endless 
iteration  of  pillar  and  arch  and  their  unbroken 
rings  of  seats — these  are  fit  emblems  of  her  irresis- 
tible course,  her  levelling,  all-dominating  policy, 
before  which  all  limitations,  all  local  varieties,  were 
forced  to  disappear.  .  .  .  An  interior  like  that  of 
the  Pantheon — with  its  simple  divisions,  its  surfaces 
so  sparingly  broken,  its  immense  dome  brooding 
equally  over  all — conveys  a  sublime  idea  of  unity, 
which  is  perfectly  expressive  of  the  character  of 
the  Romans.'^ 

It  is  obvious  that  considerations  such  as  these 
must  play  their  part  in  forming  our  general 
aesthetic  idea  of  architecture,  and  it  would  have 
been  an  omission  to  ignore  them  in  this  place. 
They  have  perhaps  been  rather  overworked  in  the 
past  by  writers  who  approach  art  from  the  literary 
side,  and  by  a  natural  reaction  technical  critics  are 
now  disposed  unduly  to  ignore  them. 

§  106.  The  ^Esthetics  of  Construction  in  general  not 
entered  upon. 

It  might  be  in  place  here  to  give  some  atten- 
tion to  the  beauty,  or  at  any  rate  interest,  which 
attaches  to  any  piece  of  clear  construction,  indepen- 
dent of  all  considerations  of  size  or  triumph  over 
material  difficulties.  It  is  beyond  question  that  the 
sight  of  an  aptly  designed  piece  of  construction  in 

*  From  Schola  to  Cathedral^  Edinburgh,  1 886,  p.  142. 


ESTHETICS   OF  CONSTRUCTION  225 

building  or  in  engineering,  in  which  we  discern  the 
function  of  every  part,  and  see  that  every  part  is 
performing  its  function,  gives  a  certain  kind  of 
aesthetic  pleasure.  There  is  an  analogy  between 
the  mechanical  and  the  living  organism.  Look  at 
certain  animals  built  for  swiftness  and  activity, 
such  as  the  race-horse  and  greyhound,  the  antelope 
and  creatures  of  the  feline  tribe.  What  grace 
there  is  in  the  spare  lithe  limbs,  what  an  impres- 
sion of  power  concentrated  on  direct  single  action 
in  the  bound  or  gallop  or  spring  !  Something  like 
this  we  recognize  in  the  beauty  of  certain  machines 
that  have  movement,  and  even  in  that  of  certain 
immobile  structures — a  beauty  that  is  dependent 
partly  on  the  clearness  of  construction  just  noticed; 
partly  on  simplicity,  in  that  there  is  no  cumbering 
superfluity  to  obscure  the  working  of  the  parts  ; 
partly  on  slenderness,  in  that  each  part  must  seem 
to  be  strenuously  at  work,  screwed  up  always  to 
the  stretch  like  the  limbs  of  a  racer  in  fine  training. 
Strictly  speaking  however,  construction  into  which 
there  enters  no  element  of  magnitude  or  power  is 
excluded  from  consideration  in  this  place,  and 
would  be  more  suitably  treated  in  connection  with 
the  decorative  arts,  in  whose  operations  the 
element  of  a  due  relation  to  structure  is  of  the 
highest  moment. 

§107.  Other  effects  produced  by  the  Work  of  Art  as 
significant ;  the  Suggestion  of  Nature  in  Architec- 
tural Forms. 

From  the  instances  already  considered,  in  which 
the    artistic    unity    produces    an    aesthetic    effect 

p 


226      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

through  its  magnitude  or  the  impression  of  power 
conveyed  by  it,  we  pass  to  those  in  which  the 
effect  is  still  indeed  produced  by  the  thing  as  a 
whole  but  with  more  conscious  analysis  of  its 
special  form  and  character.  Under  this  heading 
fall  all  those  considerations  applicable  to  forms  of 
art  as  representations  of  nature.  If  to  resemble 
nature  be  in  itself  a  merit  in  a  work  of  art,  it  will 
be  a  merit  independent  of  composition,  and  will 
come  rather  under  the  head  of  *  significance '  than 
of  *  beauty.'  It  is  only  in  the  arts  of  painting  and 
sculpture  that  the  imitation  of  nature  plays  any 
very  prominent  part.  In  architecture  we  may 
receive  as  it  were  a  reminder  of  natural  forms, 
sufficient  to  touch  chords  of  association  in  our 
minds  but  not  to  invite  us  to  definite  comparison. 
The  appeal  which  architectural  masses  make  to 
our  sense  of  the  sublime  is  rendered  more  forcible 
because  in  a  far-off  way  they  recall  to  us  those 
aspects  of  the  material  creation  on  which  this 
sense  has  been  nurtured  (§  102).  The  Romans 
thought  that  the  Pantheon  was  so  called  because 
the  vast  dome  of  it  suggested  the  vault  of  heaven 
the  abode  of  all  the  gods,^  and  a  similar  com- 
parison was  made  in  the  case  of  the  dome  of  Sta. 
Sophia  at  Constantinople.^  The  effect  of  a  great 
unbroken  mass  of  masonry  a  hundred  feet  or  more 
in  height,  like  the  wall  of  the  Papal  palace  at 
Avignon,  reproduces  in  our  mind  the  impression 
of  the  mountain  cliff,  making  up  by  its  sheerness 
and  isolation  for  its  inferiority  in  measurable  size. 

^  Dion  Cassius,  Hist.  Rom.^  liii.  27. 
'^  Procopius,  De  ^dificiis,  i.  i. 


ART  AND   NATURE  227 

In  such  cases  however  there  is  only  in  the  back- 
ground of  our  minds  an  obscure  recognition  of 
likeness  to  nature,  whereas  in  painting  and  sculp- 
ture the  imitation  is  direct  and  obvious  and  is  of 
the  very  essence  of  the  arts. 

§  108.  The  Relation  to  Nature  of  the  Works  of  Sculpture 
and  Painting. 

Speaking  broadly  there  are  three  aspects  of  this 
relation,  (i)  The  statue  or  the  picture  may  be 
regarded  merely  as  the  presentation  of  nature,  and 
in  this  case  it  may  be  really  Nature,  not  Art, 
with  which  the  spectator  is  concerned.  (2)  Each 
may  be  regarded  merely  as  a  beautiful  thing  in 
form  or  colour,  with  no  reference  at  all  to  the 
subject  of  the  representation.  (3)  Between  these 
two  opposing  views  there  comes  the  third,  which 
ignoring  neither  the  subject  of  the  work  nor  its 
outward  appearance  as  form  and  colour,  regards 
rather  the  artistic  treatment  of  the  subject  which  has 
won  from  nature  the  secret  of  beauty.  That  this 
latter  view  embodies  the  soundest  appreciation  of 
the  arts  will  appear  more  clearly  if  we  consider  for 
a  moment  each  of  the  two  more  narrow  and 
limited  theories  above  indicated. 

§  109.  Statues  and  Pictures  have  been  generally  regarded 
from  the  point  of  view  of  their  Truth  to  Nature, 

From  the  very  beginning  of  art  history,  so  soon 
at  least  as  the  carver  or  painter  had  attained  some 
success  in  the  imitation  of  nature,  the  popular  eye 
has  looked  at  his  work  almost  entirely  as  repre- 
senting nature — that  is,  from  the  point  of  view  of 


228      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  SIGNIFICANT 

the  subject.  The  people  of  our  own  country 
though  less  instructed  in  artistic  matters  than  the 
publics  of  Athens,  Florence  or  modern  Paris, 
resemble  in  the  main  every  other  public,  and  look 
chiefly  in  art  for  something  of  immediate  interest. 
That  the  public  finds  this  to  be  the  subject^  the 
thing  represented,  is  undoubtedly  now  the  case, 
but  it  has  also  been  the  case  all  through  art 
history.  Both  the  plastic  and  the  graphic  arts 
have  indeed  generally  been  judged  of  almost 
exclusively  from  this  point  of  view,  and  Pliny  in 
the  ancient,  Vasari  in  the  modern  world,  write 
about  sculptors  and  painters  as  if  their  sole 
function  had  been  the  more  or  less  lively  imitation 
of  natural  scenes  and  personages.  The  poets  have 
all  along  echoed  the  same  notion,  and  the 

*  Better  than  I  saw  not  who  saw  the  truth '  * 

of  Dante,  Shakespeare's 

'  the  cutter 
Was  as  another  nature,  dumb,'^ 

and  Tennyson's 

*  Not  less  than  truth  designed,'  ^ 

are  examples  of  the  way  in  which  every  poet, 
unless,  like  Robert  Browning,  he  has  a  special 
insight  into  artistic  theory,  will  deal  with  the 
imitative  arts. 

§  110.  or  of  the  Ethical  Character  of  their  Subjects. 

If  the  ordinary  outside  observer  find  pictures 
interesting  in  proportion  as  they  truthfully  portray 

^  Purgatorioy  xii.  68.  ^  Cymbeline^  Act  ii.  sc.  4. 

^  The  Palace  of  Art, 


ARt  AND   ETHICS  229 

nature,  others  have  gone  farther  and  judged  them 
according  to  the  ethical  character  of  the  scenes 
and  objects  represented.  As  might  have  been 
expected,  the  Greek  philosophers  and  moralists 
regard  the  arts  almost  entirely  from  this  ethical 
standpoint.  Aristotle  remarks  in  the  Poetics  that 
a  certain  painter,  Polygnotus,  depicted  men  as 
better  than  they  are,  another,  Pauson,  as  worse 
than  they  are,  while  a  third,  Dionysius,  made  them 
neither  worse  nor  better  than  nature,^  while  in 
another  work,  following  out  the  same  line  of 
thought,  he  says  that  young  men  should  not  be 
allowed  to  look  at  the  pictures  of  Pauson,  but  only 
at  those  of  Polygnotus  or  of  any  other  painter 
whose  works  are  morally  elevated.^  This  view  is 
carried  to  an  extreme  by  the  Socrates  of  Xenophon 
who  in  a  conversation  with  the  painter  Parrhasius, 
reported  in  the  Memorabilia^  demonstrates  that 
the  best  painting  is  that  which  depicts  the  noblest 
scenes  and  personages.  The  use  of  painting  for 
purposes  of  edification  was  not  lost  sight  of  by 
the  medieval  Churchmen  who  ordered  didactic 
pictures  for  the  walls  of  the  sanctuary,  and  the 
same  aspect  of  the  art  has  been  so  often  paraded 
in  modern  times  that  no  further  illustration  of  it 
is  needed. 

§  111.  Criticism  of  these  Views. 

It  may  be  taken  as  needing  no  demonstration 

that  every  one  now   who  has  worked    in  art  or 

received  from  artists  some   instruction   as   to  the 

aims  and  conditions  of  their  craft,  will  agree  that 

lii.  I.  '^Politics,  V.  5,  21.  ^Chap.  x. 


230      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

beauty  in  works  of  art  is  of  at  least  as  much 
importance  as  truth.  All  such  understand  that  a 
process  of  selection,  omission,  combination,  must 
go  on  before  the  statue  or  picture  is  evolved. 
They  know  that  nature  is  not  always  or  alto- 
gether beautiful,  and  that  an  artist  is  not  worthy 
of  the  name  who  in  his  choice  is  too  easily 
satisfied.  They  know  that  what  is  selected  as 
beautiful  in  nature  must  be  made  still  more  lovely 
by  harmonious  surroundings,  that  what  is  char- 
acteristic must  be  accentuated  more  clearly,  what 
is  not  pleasing  modified  or  left  out.  A  beautiful 
result  is  indeed  the  paramount  aim  of  the  artist. 
Truth  in  itself  may  be  a  moral,  but  is  not  neces- 
sarily an  artistic  virtue.  Unless  nature  be  made 
obedient  to  the  aesthetic  purpose,  unless  beauty 
result  from  the  imitation  of  nature,  such  imitation 
is  vain.  Skill  in  plastic  or  graphic  delineation 
may  of  course  be  usefully  employed  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  nature  for  other  than  artistic  ends,  and 
may,  besides  being  useful,  excite  well-deserved  ad- 
miration for  its  achievement ;  the  resulting  product 
need  not  however  be  a  work  of  art.  We  have  seen 
this  to  be  the  case  in  the  very  earliest  times,  when  the 
life-like  sketch  of  the  mammoth,  though  the  histori- 
cal starting-point  of  the  graphic  art,  is  not  to  be 
reckoned  in  itself  artistic  (§  13),  and  shall  come 
upon  the  point  again  in  the  chapter  on  Sculpture, 
where  the  purely  realistic  statues  of  the  deceased 
found  in  the  oldest  Egyptian  tombs  are  in  the  same 
way  excluded  from  the  strictly  artistic  category. 
The  mere  imitation  of  nature,  it  is  repeated,  is  not 
in  itself  artistic,  and  this  will  be  accepted  as  true 


THE  PICTURE  AS  *  DECORATIVE^  231 

by  all  who  have  some  practical  acquaintance  with 
the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture,  though  to  the 
outsider  there  will  still  remain  something  fasci- 
nating about  the  former  easy  and  logical  theory. 

With  regard  to  the  ethical  criterion,  it  need 
hardly  be  pointed  out  that  this  mode  of  regarding 
the  subject  is  open  to  the  criticism  that  it  takes 
account  rather  of  intellectual  and  moral  qualities 
in  the  designer  than  of  those  more  purely  artistic. 
Such  a  one  may  indeed  have  selected  a  subject  of 
the  most  elevated  and  edifying  kind,  and  may 
have  rendered  it  with  much  intelligence  and  force, 
while  yet  the  result,  as  a  work  of  art,  is  too  exe- 
crable for  words.  Noble  ideas  tell  immensely  in 
art  when  expressed  in  artistic  language,  but  they 
will  not  by  themselves  make  a  work  of  art.  No 
artist  can  claim  to  be  judged  by  his  intellectual 
insight  or  his  moral  fervour,  except  in  so  far  as  he 
has  the  gift  to  make  these  effective  in  and  through 
the  artistic  qualities  of  his  work. 

§  112.  The  opposite  theory  of  a  Picture  as  *  Decora- 
tive* stated  and  discussed. 

If  therefore  it  be  a  mistake  to  regard  works  of 
sculpture  and  painting  merely  as  representations 
of  nature,  it  is  equally  out  of  the  question  to  treat 
them  merely  as  compositions  of  form,  tone  and 
colour.  In  the  case  of  sculpture,  the  relation  of 
which  to  nature  differs,  as  will  be  seen  (§  153) 
from  that  of  painting,  such  treatment  would  be 
palpably  absurd,  and  sculpture  may  for  the  moment 
be  put  aside.  In  the  case  of  painting  the  reduc- 
tion  of  the   work  to   a  mere  effect   of  tone  and 


232      THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

colour  IS  more  conceivable,  and  the  question  that 
is  involved  may  have  here  a  word. 

It  is  the  fashion  in  some  quarters  to  use  the 
word  *  decorative '  in  a  somewhat  unreal  sense  in 
connection  with  the  cabinet  picture  of  modern 
times.  A  Corot  landscape,  we  are  told,  is  to  be 
regarded  as  *  decorative,'  and  not  as  a  representa- 
tion of  nature.  If  the  word  means  simply  'pleasing 
to  the  eye,'  then,  of  course,  a  Corot,  like  every 
other  good  picture,  is  *  decorative.'  It  is  a  thing 
of  beauty,  and  to  the  imagination  of  its  possessor 
it  may  seem  to  make  all  about  it  beautiful.  As  a 
fact  however,  the  work  is  not  meant  to  adorn  its 
surroundings  as  a  piece  of  decoration  adorns  them. 
It  is  an  entirely  independent  work  of  art  that  may 
be  moved  from  place  to  place,  and  for  which 
proper  surroundings  have  to  be  sought  or  devised. 
It  is  prior  to  its  surroundings,  not  conditioned  by 
them.  For  *  decorative  '  in  this  forced  sense,  the 
word  *  beautiful '  should  be  substituted. 

In  contemplating  a  picture,  we  may  if  we  choose 
affect  only  to  consider  its  beauties  of  tone  and 
colour,  and  may  even  find  pictures — by  Monticelli 
perhaps,  though  certainly  not  by  Corot — that  do 
seem  to  fulfil  these  conditions  of  formal  beauty 
and  no  others  ;  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that 
these  are  the  only  conditions  of  effect  in  the 
painter's  art.  This  can  never  really  be  consistently 
maintained,  as  the  following  will  show.  The  best 
statement  of  the  pictorial  program  of  the  day,  from 
the  pen  of  a  practical  worker  in  art,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  little  book  by  the  famous  Belgian  painter 
Alfred   Stevens,  entitled  Impressions  sur  la  Pein- 


NATURE   IN   PAINTING  233 

ture^  in  which  we  find  the  creed  of  what  he  himself 
calls  *  modernity '  expressed  in  a  series  of  terse  and 
elegant  aphorisms.  Here  are  one  or  two  char- 
acteristic utterances.  *  In  painting  one  can  do 
without  subject.  A  picture  ought  not  to  need  an 
explanatory  paragraph.*  *  A  painter  ought  before 
everything  to  be  a  painter,  and  the  grandest  and 
finest  "  subjects "  in  the  world  are  not  worth  a 
good  piece  of  painting.*  *  At  the  Salon,  the  public 
is  almost  exclusively  taken  up  with  the  "  subject " ; 
the  true  art  of  the  painter  becomes  an  accessory 
matter.*  ^ 

In  somewhat  similar  terms,  Mr.  Whistler  com- 
plains that  '  the  vast  majority  of  English  folk 
cannot  and  will  not  consider  a  picture  as  a  picture, 
apart  from  any  story  which  it  may  be  supposed  to 
tell.'  ^  Mr.  Hole  of  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy 
in  a  paper  read  some  time  ago  at  an  Art  Congress 
lays  it  down  that  *  the  function  of  art  is — to  be 
beautiful.  Not  necessarily  to  picture  things  of 
beauty ;  not  assuredly  to  set  before  us  beautiful 
literary  ideas.  It  seeks  not  to  stimulate  to  lofty 
deeds,  to  teach  or  to  preach  anything.  Its  mission 
is  to  be  in  itself,  and  for  itself  alone,  beautiful.*  ^ 

If  these  and  similar  statements  are  meant  as 
correctives  of  the  silly  popular  insistence  on  interest 
of  subject  as  the  only  thing  worth  attending  to  in 
a  picture,  then  they  are  both  true  and  well-timed, 
but  if  they  cover  the  belief  that  the  be-all  and  end- 

^Nos.    XV,    LXVII,   CLXV. 

2  The  Gentle  Art,  p.  126. 

'  Transactions  of  the  National  Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Art,  Edinburgh,  1889,  p.  72. 


234      THE  WORK  OF  ART   AS   SIGNIFICANT 

all  of  a  picture  is  to  be  materially  pleasing  to  the 
eye,  they  can  be  met  by  counter  statements  from 
their  own  authors.  For  example,  in  the  same 
series  of  aphorisms  from  which  quotations  have 
already  been  given,  Alfred  Stevens  remarks  of  the 
French  painter  of  the  Napoleonic  era,  Gericault, 
whom  he  greatly  admires,  that  with  a  single  figure 
he  tells  the  tale  of  all  the  army  of  the  First 
Empire.^  Here  is  a  painter  praised  for  his 
intellectual  grasp  of  a  theme  of  historical  moment, 
for  his  power  of  creating  a  type  and  of  delineating 
the  general  in  the  individual,  for  all  in  short  that 
the  old  masters  of  design  strove  to  accomplish  and 
that  moderns  affect  to  contemn !  Mr.  Whistler, 
who  explains  lucidly  how  good  pictures  can  be 
made  up  of  pictorial  elements  without  any  insist- 
ence on  subject  or  story,  yet  affirms  that  it  is 
for  the  artist '  in  portrait  painting  to  put  on  canvas 
something  more  than  the  face  the  model  wears  for 
that  one  day  ;  to  paint  the  man,  in  short,  as  well 
as  his  features,'  ^  while  Mr.  Hole  in  the  paper 
above  quoted  speaks  of  Art  as  the  interpretation 
of  Nature.  Now  to  interpret  nature,  and  to  discern 
the  man  beneath  the  mask  of  the  features,  imply 
keen  intellectual  insight  and  sympathy.  You 
cannot  interpret  nature  till  you  can  conceive 
nature,  and  this  is  just  the  work  that  man  has 
been  busy  with  from  the  beginning  of  rational 
civilization  until  now.  He  only  can  interpret 
nature  whose  intuition  is  quick  to  discern  all  that 
nature  means  for  the  men  of  his  own  time  or  for 
men  at  large.  He  must  enter  deeply  into  the 
iNo.  LXVIII.  >»  The  Gentle  Art,  p.  128. 


NATURE   IN   PAINTING  235 

spirit  of  his  theme,  and  thereby  in  rendering  it 
give  it  value  and  importance,  just  as  the  true 
portraitist  enters  into  the  character  of  his  model 
and  makes  his  work  a  reading  of  that  character, 
and  not  mere  outward  delineation. 

§  113.  The  Artistic  Treatment  of  Nature  in  the  Art 
of  Painting. 

We  may  conclude,  therefore,  that  it  is  not 
*  subject '  merely  that  we  look  for  in  painting,  nor 
is  itHmerely  '  artistic  effect,'  in  the  sense  of  pure 
beauty  of  form  and  colour,  but,  rather,  a  combina- 
tion of  these  two,  or  to  borrow  a  phrase  already 
employed,  ' the  artistic  treatment  of  the  subject' 
Albrecht  Durer  has  an  expression  which  is  thus 
rendered  in  Sir  Martin  Conway's  collection  of  his 
Literary  Remains^ — *  Art  standeth  firmly  fixed  in 
Nature,  and  whoso  can  rend  her  forth  thence,  he 
onl^  possesseth  her.'  ^  It  would  be  impossible  to 
express  more  tersely  and  with  more  truth  the 
essential  principle  of  the  imitative  arts.  The 
phrase  is  a  text  upon  which  the  whole  history  of  ( 
these  arts  is  a  commentary.  Ever  since  painting 
and  sculpture  became  arts  of  expression  dealing  in 
independence  with  their  themes,  their  exponents 
have  been,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  struggling 
to  accomplish  what  Diirer  calls  the  'rending  forth' 
of  Art  from  Nature.  Nature  to  so  many  has 
remained  closed  and  silent,  and  to  so  few  has 
yielded  up  her  intimate  secret  of  beauty  !  Yet 
the  artist  does  well  to  be  unwearied  in  his  impor- 
tunity, for  to  win  even  a  little  is  a  priceless  gain, 
^Cambridge  University  Press,  1889,  p.  182. 


236      THE  WORK  Of  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

and  a  piece  of  art  that  in  any  way  reveals  the 
hidden  significance  of  nature's  loveliness  has  gifted 
the  world  with  a  new  and  lasting  delight. 

§  114.  The  Language  of  Art. 

The  painter  who  can  accomplish  this  has  learned 
to  use  the  *  language  of  Art'  *  Art  is  a  language/ 
exclaimed  Jean  Francois  Millet,  '  and  language  is 
made  to  express  thought/  Now  the  artist  can 
'think'  without  a  process  of  reasoning,  and  become 
eloquent  without  using  any  form  of  words.  This 
is  true  of  painting  as  of  the  other  arts.  Alfred 
Stevens  says  in  one  place :  *  In  the  art  of  painting 
one  must  before  everything  be  a  painter :  the 
thinker  only  comes  in  afterwards,'  but  in  another : 
*  A  true  painter  is  a  thinker  all  the  time.'  He 
protests  that  *  A  sparkle  of  light  thrown  on  an 
accessory  by  a  Dutch  or  Flemish  painter,  is  more 
than  a  skilful  stroke  of  the  brush,  it  is  a  touch  of 
mind.'i  Again,  Eugene  Fromentin — whose  book 
upon  the  painting  of  the  Low  Countries  is  a 
classic  expression  of  the  best  modern  conclusions 
about  the  Art — while  of  course  totally  opposed  to 
the  popular  heresy  of  looking  at  pictures  for  the 
literary  interest  of  their  subjects,  yet  insists  on 
painting  as  a  language  for  the  expression  of  artistic 
thought.  In  a  certain  class  of  productions,  he 
says,  *  every  work  in  which  the  hand  reveals  itself 
with  joyousness  and  brilliancy  is  by  that  very  fact 
a  work  that  belongs  to  the  brain  and  is  drawn 
from  it.'  2    Again  he  speaks  of  *  the  dramatic  value 

1  Impressions^  Nos.  LXIII,  GOV,  cxxix. 

^Les  Maitres  d^ Autrefois ^  6th  ed.  Paris,  1 890,  p.  72. 


THE   LANGUAGE  OF  ART  237 

of  a  flourish  and  an  effect/  and  *  the  moral  beauty 
of  a  picturesque  composition/  ^  In  all  such  cases 
the  *  thought '  of  the  work  is  not  merely  a  literary 
idea  taking  for  the  moment  an  artistic  shape,  but 
is  on  the  other  hand  an  idea  formed  and  expressed 
from  first  to  last  in  an  artistic  medium.  It  is 
something  so  intimately  bound  up  with  the  ex- 
pression that  the  two  are  really  one,  so  that  the 
artistic  language  may  not  only  express  thought, 
but  actually  be  that  thought.  We  should  be  able 
to  say  of  it,  Such  thought  could  never  be  expressed 
in  other  than  an  artistic  form.  Though  possessing 
an  intellectual  and  a  moral  element,  as  created  in 
the  imagination  of  a  thinking  and  feeling  being,  it 
does  not  appeal  to  the  reflective  reason  nor  does 
it  attempt  to  edify.  It  is  only  in  and  through  art 
that  we  can  meet  and  apprehend  it ;  if,  or  in  so 
far  as,  we  may  be  able  to  disengage  the  thought 
from  the  expression,  it  is  not  artistic  thought 
and  is  not  the  proper  content  for  the  language 
of  art. 

The  •  language  of  Art '  has  many  utterances. 
It  will  speak  to  us — 

*  In  solemn  tenour  and  deep  organ  tone  * 

from  the  Sublime  of  architecture ;  with  the  note 
of  law  and  reason  out  of  the  well-knit  ordered 
structure ;  in  accents  pregnant  with  associations 
that  gather  round  country  and  shrine  and  tomb 
and  with  all  the  interest  of  history,  from  the 
national  and  religious  monument.     Through  the 

'^Ibid.  p.  92. 


238      THE   WORK  OF  ART  AS   SIGNIFICANT 

significant  types  of  sculpture  and  of  ideal  painting, 
it  will  bring  before  us  the  thoughts  and  aspirations 
about  the  Human  and  the  Divine  of  some  of  the 
Master-minds  of  the  ages.  In  portraiture,  the 
language  of  Art  will  confide  to  us  the  secret  of 
the  hidden  springs  of  character,  and  point  out  the 
marks  which  the  soul  has  written  on  the  face  for 
only  the  discerning  eye  to  read.  In  the  human 
creature,  and  in  all  the  organized  beings  and 
objects  of  nature,  it  will  make  clear  to  us — not  the 
outward  working  only — but  the  heart  from  which 
all  work  proceeds,  displaying  structure  and  function 
and  habit,  till  it  becomes  at  once  a  record  of  what 
has  been  and  a  prophecy  of  the  future.  And 
finally  from  inanimate  nature  Art  will  learn  the 
spell  of  her  sympathetic  power  over  the  human 
spirit,  and  through  the  poetry  of  infinite  spaces  in 
Claude,  through  the  mystery  of  light  of  Turner, 
and  Rembrandt's  mystery  of  darkness,  through 
the  solemnity  of  Ruysdael  and  the  tranquil  pen- 
siveness  of  Corot,  her  language  will  come  home  to 
our  hearts  with  an  undertone  of 

*  The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity ' 

heard  through  the  larger  harmony  of  the  voices  of 
the  sky  and  field  and  mountain. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

§  115.  The  Elements  of  Beauty ;  the  Whole  and  the 
Parts 

In  the  present  chapter,  the  more  purely  formal 
side  of  the  aesthetic  effect  of  works  of  art  will 
form  the  subject  for  consideration,  but  it  must  alj 
along  be  remembered  that  the  distinction  between 
the  significant  quality  and  the  more  purely  beautiful 
quality,  is  not  an  absolute  one.  Forms,  colours, 
tones,  though  composed  for  an  effect  directly 
pleasing  to  the  eye,  carry  with  them  as  we  have 
seen  sundry  associations,  sundry  hints  of  natural 
symbolism,  which  necessarily  mingle  with,  and 
form  part  of,  the  total  impression.  It  is  possible, 
however,  to  discuss  Composition  without  much 
reference  to  these  ulterior  considerations,  and  these 
last  will  accordingly  in  this  chapter  be  kept  in  the 
background. 

Composition  involves  the  relation  of  the  parts 
in  an  artistic  unity  to  each  other,  and  to  the  whole. 
If  this  relation  be  pleasing  then  the  artistic  unity 


240       THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS   BEAUTIFUL 

is  beautiful.  As  has  been  already  explained,  the 
formal  discussion  of  the  Beautiful  from  the  point 
of  view  of  aesthetic  science  forms  no  part  of  our 
theme.  It  may  be  noticed  however  here,  that 
according  to  a  common  account  of  beauty  the 
effect  of  it  resides  in  the  perception  of  diversity  in 
unity  and  unity  in  diversity.  This  means  that 
the  beautiful  object  must  present  itself  in  such  a 
form  that  we  apprehend  it  as  a  single  thing, 
embrace  it  as  such  in  consciousness  and  find  rest 
and  satisfaction  in  its  contemplation ;  while  at  the 
same  time  there  is  variety  in  its  constitution,  and 
the  interest  of  subtly  related  elements.  Our  per- 
ception of  the  object  as  beautiful  depends,  therefore, 
partly  on  our  apprehension  of  the  unity  of  the 
whole,  and  partly  on  our  attention  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  parts.  The  variety  of  the  parts  would 
not  satisfy  us,  unless  they  are  held  together  in 
proper  artistic  relation,  nor  would  the  impression 
of  singleness  satisfy,  if  it  were  gained  by  mere 
emptiness  and  absence  of  marked  internal  features. 
We  only  find  our  full  pleasure  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  whole,  when  we  apprehend  some  con- 
siderable complexity  in  the  parts  ;  only  care  to 
follow  out  the  relations  of  the  parts,  when  we  feel 
that  they  are  fused  into  a  single  grand  impression. 

§  116.  Importance  of  attending  first  to  the  Whole ; 

It  must  be  carefully  noted  here  that  the  appre- 
hension of  these  two  elements  in  the  effect  of  the 
beautiful  object,  should  be  a  single  act.  We 
should  feel  so  to  say,  the  parts  in  the  whole,  the 
whole    in    the   parts.     To   consider   the  parts   as 


VALUE  OF  GENERAL  EFFECT  241 

separate  things  is  to  lose  the  artistic  value  of  the 
work.  Further,  the  greater  the  delight  in  the 
impression  of  the  whole,  the  less  will  be  the 
interest  in  the  elements  as  separate  things.  The 
judgment  of  the  artistically  uneducated  attaches 
itself  to  the  parts,  which  they  will  investigate  and 
analyse  with  tedious  ingenuity.  More  advanced 
criticism  will  be  satisfied  with  a  general  look  of 
complexity  and  detail  in  the  parts,  but  will 
estimate  with  curious  fastidiousness  the  effect  of 
the  whole,  demanding  from  it  a  nicely  balanced 
harmony  very  rare  of  attainment.  A  little  con- 
sideration will  show  that  the  appreciation  of  the 
general  effect  is  an  act  of  the  more  purely  artistic 
judgment,  while  the  analysis  of  the  parts  belongs 
rather  to  the  reflective  powers,  which  may  be  so 
actively  employed  that  the  artistic  judgment  is 
kept  in  abeyance  and  the  effect  of  the  work  as  a 
unity  entirely  lost.  So,  for  example,  the  rendering 
of  certain  natural  objects  in  a  Turner  drawing 
may  be  dwelt  upon  to  the  exclusion  of  any  just 
appreciation  of  the  whole  work  for  its  composition 
in  line  or  light-and-shade,  or  its  sympathetic 
rendering  of  nature  in  her  larger  aspects  of  infinity 
or  repose.  No  better  advice  can  be  given  to  those 
who  wish  to  become  educated  in  art,  than  that 
they  should  begin  by  mistrusting  all  their  own 
judgments  when  directed  towards  the  parts  of  an 
artistic  unity,  and  attempt  for  a  while  merely  to 
get  the  utmost  satisfaction  attainable  from  the 
general  effect  of  the  whole.  When  this  is  properly 
judged,  it  will  be  time  to  go  on  with  the  analysis 
of  the  parts. 

Q 


242       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

§  117.  in  criticizing  ArcMtecture, 

In  the  case  for  example  of  architecture,  they 
should  study  a  monument  as  a  whole,  first  valuing 
aright  the  general  impression  of  its  mass,  and  then 
estimating  the  effect  of  composition,  gained  by  the 
breaking  up  of  the  mass  into  parts  related  accord- 
ing to  a  just  sense  of  proportion.  They  should 
not  trouble  themselves  about  the  details  of  the 
figure-sculpture,  or  such  other  unessential  portions, 
but  look  on  these  merely  as  elements  in  the 
general  effect  and  judge  them  solely  in  this  relation 
By  so  doing  it  is  possible  to  become  a  critic  of 
architecture.  The  opposite  process  would  be  to 
consider  first  the  details,  say,  the  figure-sculpture, 
asking  what  the  various  statues  and  reliefs  repre- 
sent, and  admiring  the  naturalistic  treatment  of 
action  and  drapery,  while  the  building  itself  is 
looked  upon  as  in  the  main  a  framework  or  a 
show-box  to  set  off  these  interesting  items.  If 
the  study  of  architecture  be  commenced  and  carried 
on  in  this  trivial  fashion,  which  is  much  too 
common  among  travellers,  it  will  be  impossible  to 
arrive  at  any  true  comprehension  of  the  art 

§  118.  Sculpture, 

What  is  true  of  architecture  is  also  true  of 
sculpture,  and  here  it  is  perhaps  more  easily 
recognized.  A  Greek  statue  at  any  rate — the 
typical  achievement  of  the  plastic  art — repels  the 
familiar  approach  of  the  sentimental  inquirer  into 
small  details,  and  demands  to  be  taken  as  a  whole 
or  not  at  all.     The  forms  of  limb  and  drapery  are 


HARMONY  AND   STRENGTH  243 

moulded  into  such  a"  perfect  unity  that  we  can 
hardly  conceive  of  them  as  separate  parts,  which 
could  have  had  a  different  relative  position.  The 
harmony  is  so  absolute,  we  cannot  dream  of  dis- 
cord. Such  pieces  challenge  the  artistic  judgment, 
and  make  but  little  appeal  to  that  form  of  criticism 
which  treats  works  of  art  in  the  main  as  story- 
books. Hence  Greek  statues  are  sometimes 
reproved  for  want  of  interest  and  expression,  when 
the  fault  really  lies  in  the  objector's  choice  of  his 
point  of  view.  Whatever  a  Greek  plastic  work 
has  to  say  will  be  read  best  in  its  general  aspect, 
and  this  viewed  not  once  only,  but  often,  and  from 
every  side,  will  reveal  a  depth  of  artistic  meaning 
unsuspected  by  the  ordinary  observer. 

§  119.  and  Painting. 

In  the  case  of  the  picture,  the  temptation  to 
consider  the  parts  in  themselves,  rather  than  the 
effect  of  the  parts  in  their  relation  to  the  whole,  is 
to  most  people  irresistible,  and  upon  this  popular 
weakness  subsist  the  promoters  of  exhibitions  of 
painting.  It  cannot  be  too  strongly  impressed  on 
the  student  of  art  that  a  picture  is  good  or  bad 
in  itself  as  a  whole,  irrespective  of  the  special 
elements  which  make  it  up.  There  may  be  many 
classes  or  degrees  of  value  among  good  pictures, 
and  in  fixing  these  there  are  various  considerations 
to  be  taken  into  account,  but  '  good '  and  *  bad  ' 
are  pretty  absolute  categories,  and  pictures  are 
classed  thereunder  mainly  in  virtue  of  two  qualities 
which  belong  to  works  of  art  in  general  but  are 
specially    marked    in    painting.      These    qualities 


244       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

may  be  described  as  harmony  and  strength  of  effect, 
*  Harmony '  is  the  element  of  unity,  '  strength ' 
belongs  rather  to  the  parts.  When  these  qualities 
exist  together  in  due  balance  then  the  picture  is  a 
good  one,  but  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  will  do 
alone.  Harmony  is  an  excellence  cheaply  won 
when  the  elements  to  be  arranged  in  accord  have 
no  decided  character ;  it  has  then  hardly  more 
than  a  negative  value.  Strength  on  the  other 
hand  (whether  residing  in  decision  of  drawing,  in 
light-and-shade,  or  in  colour),  if  it  be  allowed  to 
escape  the  control  of  harmony  may  be  obtrusively 
displeasing,  as  in  the  normal  *  Salon '  picture,  and 
is  by  itself  not  even  a  negative  excellence.  Har- 
mony is  less  easy  to  judge  than  strength,  and  the 
eye  needs  before  all  things  to  be  trained  to  a 
nice  discrimination  of  this  all-important  pictorial 
quality.  Only  the  habit  of  looking  first  at  a 
picture  as  a  whole,  without  troubling  to  inquire 
into  its  elements,  will  supply  the  needful  education, 
and  turn  the  ordinary  Royal  Academy  visitor  into 
an  appreciative  critic  of  this  most  versatile  and 
difficult  of  the  arts. 

§  120.  'Breadth'  and  its  artistic  significance. 

The  artistic  term  *  breadth,'  so  commonly  used 
in  the  criticism  of  the  arts  of  form,  may  claim  a 
word  of  comment  here.  It  is  said  of  a  fagade,  a 
sculptured  frieze,  a  picture,  that  it  is  *  broadly 
treated '  or  has  *  breadth '  when  the  parts  are  in 
such  due  subordination  that  the  single  harmonious 
effect  is  predominant.  Thus  the  interior  of  Mr. 
Bentley's  new  Roman  Catholic  Cathedral  at  West- 


BREADTH    IN   PAINTING  245 

minster,  and  the  Eastern  or  entrance  fagade  of 
the  University  at  Edinburgh,  a  masterpiece  by 
Robert  Adam,  have  breadth  in  virtue  of  their 
massive  simplicity,  the  largeness  of  the  parts  which 
make  them  up,  and  the  severe  restraint  of  the 
ornamentation.  The  same  quality  belongs  to  the 
Elgin  Frieze  because  the  constituent  elements  in 
the  procession  are  few  and  simple,  the  lines  of  the 
heads  of  the  riders  and  of  the  figures  on  foot  are 
kept  on  much  the  same  level,  the  dress  and 
accoutrements  of  the  figures  admit  of  only  enough 
variety  to  avoid  monotony  or  emptiness,  the  relief 
is  low  and  the  surface  offers  but  slight  contrasts 
of  light-and-shade.  Claude  of  Lorraine's  land- 
scapes are  pre-eminently  broad,  for  the  objects 
he  depicts  are  in  themselves  uninteresting  and 
appear  time  after  time  on  his  canvases  without 
much  variation,  while  on  the  other  hand  his 
apprehension  of  the  charm  of  vast  open  spaces 
of  earth  and  sky,  bathed  in  atmosphere,  is  singu- 
larly intense  and  poetical. 

It  is  a  tribute  to  the  value  of  this  quality  of 
breadth  in  painting,  to  find  the  modern  school  of 
landscapists  working  as  a  rule  in  a  low  key  both 
of  tone  and  colour.  The  fashionable  *  greys '  in 
landscape  and  the  low  tone  to  which  everything 
is  '  kept  down  '  are  really  devices  to  secure  breadth 
of  effect.  Decided  contrasts  of  colour  and  brilliant 
lights  are  avoided,  because  they  disturb  the  har- 
mony of  the  whole  scheme,  and  destroy  the  rest- 
fulness  of  a  composition  of  which  all  the  parts  are 
much  on  the  same  level.  The  modern  artisfs 
appreciation  of  this  quality  has  been  well  expressed 


246       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

by  a  representative  of  a  prominent  school  of  young 
British  painters.^  'We  know  how/  remarks  this 
artist,  *  as  we  ramble  through  a  wood  and  come  out 
on  some  still  pool,  the  trees  and  grasses  reflected  in 
it  seem  to  us  to  have  a  new  and  added  loveliness 
as  seen  therein,'  and  he  quotes  Shelley's  lines  in 
*  The  Recollection '  about  the  pools 

*  In  which  the  lovely  forests  grew, 

As  in  the  upper  air, 
More  perfect  both  in  shape  and  hue 
Than  any  spreading  there.' 

*  Fancy,'  he  continues,  *  how  lifeless  and  how 
painfully  hard  would  be  the  presentment  could 
we  conceive  a  huge  plate-glass  mirror  lying  there 
instead,  and  we  can  realise  how  much  more  beauti- 
ful is  the  tremulous  pool  of  water.'  The  observa- 
tion is  a  just  one,  but  the  artistic  charm  of  the 
reflection  does  not  depend  on  the  surface  being 
tremulous,  but  rather  on  the  fact  that,  besides 
^raining  the  objects,  the  pool  reflects  them  with  a 
slightly  diminished  brilliancy  of  light  and  a  con- 
sequent lowering  of  tone  as  compared  with  nature. 
The  result  is  increased  breadth  of  effect,  and  a 
harmony  of  light-and-shade  that  is  eminently 
pictorial. 

A  conspicuous  illustration  of  what  is  meant  by 
breadth  in  painting,  is  furnished  by  a  comparison 
of  the  portraits  by  Reynolds,  Gainsborough  and 
their  school  with  those  by  representative  living 
British  portraitists.  The  Reynolds-Gainsborough 
style  was  based  essentially  on  a  tradition  drawn 

*  A.   Roche  in   Transactions^  etc.,  Edinburgh  Congress,  1889, 
p.  336  f. 


I'ICTORiAL   PORTRAITURE  24^ 

from  Vandyke,  and  was  pictorial  first,  and  realistic 
only  in  a  very  secondary  sense.  Every  portrait, 
that  is  to  say,  was  studied  as  a  picture  in  a  rich 
but  quiet  harmony  of  colour,  and  was  before 
everything  beautiful  as  a  work  of  art.  Detail, 
either  of  features  or  dress,  was  not  insisted  on  ; 
the  features  were  shown  under  an  even  light  with- 
out strong  shadows,  and  the  effort  was  rather  to 
generalize  than  to  accentuate  characteristic  points; 
in  the  dress,  the  matter-of-fact  forms  of  the  modiste 
were  often  transformed  into  draperies  as  ideal  as 
those  of  the  Greek  sculptor.  In  a  word,  while  the 
artist  recognized  the  claims  of  the  facts  before 
him  to  adequate  portrayal,  he  endeavoured  to  fuse 
all  the  elements  of  the  piece  into  one  lovely  artistic 
unity,  and  in  so  doing  secured  in  his  work  the  pre- 
dominant quality  of  breadth.  This  broad  style, 
maintained  also  by  Raeburn  and  Romney,  was 
handed  on  to  painters  of  less  power,  and  died  out 
in  the  first  half  of  last  century  in  attenuated  pro- 
ductions in  which  harmony  became  emptiness.  To 
this  has  succeeded  the  modern  style  of  portraiture, 
the  dominant  notes  of  which  are  truth  and  force. 
While  the  older  school  was  seen  at  its  best  when 
dealing  with  the  softer  forms  of  the  female  sex  and 
of  youth,  the  moderns  excel  in  the  delineation  of 
character  in  strongly-marked  male  heads,  and  some 
of  them  can  hardly  succeed  with  a  woman's  por- 
trait. They  individualize  and  accent,  as  much  as 
the  older  men  broadened  and  made  beautiful.  The 
fine  appreciation  of  character  in  portraiture  shown 
by  Sir  John  Watson  Gordon  about  the  middle  of 
last  century  marks  the  beginning  of  the  forcible 


24^       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

style  now  so  favoured— a  style  suited  to  an  age 
of  keen  intellectual  activity,  of  science  and  of 
matter-of-fact.  There  is  more  of  nature,  and 
hence  to  the  uninitiated  more  of  interest,  in  the 
portraits  of  this  school,  but  less  breadth,  less 
harmony,  less  pictorial  charm,  than  in  those  on 
the  older  tradition.  The  former  may  be  best  for 
the  biographical  ends  of  a  national  or  family 
portrait-gallery,  but  the  latter  are  best  to  live 
with — and  after  all  is  not  this  the  soundest 
criterion  of  artistic  excellence  ? 

§  121.  The  value  of  *  Play  of  Surface '  as  against 
Decision  of  Form  in  the  Arts. 

There  is  one  other  consideration  of  a  general 
kind  which  may  be  fittingly  introduced  in  this 
connection.  When  dealing  with  the  artistic  im- 
pression of  a  work  of  architecture,  sculpture  or 
painting,  or  of  a  piece  of  ornamentation,  the 
modern  connoisseur  takes  as  a  rule  especial  delight 
in  any  irregularity  and  *  play '  of  effect,  produced 
partly  by  surface  texture,  and  partly  by  an 
absence  of  definite  circumscribing  lines,  and  the 
consequent  melting  of  one  part  of  a  composition 
into  another,  the  demarcation  being  felt  rather 
than  seen.  Regular  and  decided  forms,  as  in 
carved  ornament,  are  now  voted  '  hard  ' ;  clearness 
and  finish  in  marble -cutting  are  not  admired 
beside  a  sensitively  varied  surface,  where  delicate 
lights  and  shades  flicker  across  the  form.  *  Brush- 
work,' — or  the  actual  texture  of  paint  applied  by 
strokes  in  this  or  that  direction,  or  with  this  or 
that  amount  of  pigment, — is  greatly  in  demand  as 


PLAY  OF   SURFACE  249 

an  element  in  pictorial  effect.  The  *  mark  of  the 
tool '  is  exacted  on  all  objects  of  industrial  art. 
Even  the  stone-mason  is  to  be  pressed  into  the 
service  of  the  new  connoisseurship,  and  an  authority 
on  art  matters  has  even  maintained  that  architec- 
tural mouldings  should  not  run  on  a  level  line  but 
be  somewhat  '  wavy '  and  free !  What  is  the  value 
in  art,  we  are  obliged  to  ask,  of  this  surface-play, 
this  irregularity  and  suggestiveness  ?  Is  it  really 
as  potent  a  factor  in  our  artistic  enjoyment  as 
these  modern  critics  appear  to  believe  ? 

It  is  doubtless  a  just  artistic  instinct  that  revolts 
from  over-rigid  formality,  and  that  craves  in  art 
for  some  element  of  suggestion,  some  stimulus  to 
the  imagination.  It  is  easy  however  to  suffer  this 
feeling  to  run  too  far,  and  such  extreme  state- 
ments as  the  one  just  quoted  inevitably  provoke 
criticism.  We  may  for  example  appeal  at  once  to 
the  practice  of  the  Greeks.  In  Greek  plastic  work 
there  is  very  little  dependence  on  these  accidental 
qualities  of  texture.  The  form  is  perfectly  clear 
and  distinct,  the  surface  brought  up  to  a  very  high 
degree  of  smoothness,  though  not  polished.  Thus, 
on  the  Parthenon  fragments — as,  for  example,  the 
further  side  of  the  head  of  the  horse  of  Selene,  or  the 
parts  about  the  navel  of  the  Ilyssus — wherever 
the  marble  is  not  corroded  by  time,  we  see  that  it 
was  finished  with  the  chisel  in  detailed  portions, 
such  as  the  left  eyeball  of  the  horse's  head,  while 
on  broader  surfaces  it  may  have  been  smoothed 
with  sand  or  pumice.  There  is  no  sign  of  any 
desire  to  leave  *  texture  *  on  the  stone,  and  the 
surface   though  exquisitely  sensitive    is   firm   and 


2SO       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

clearly  defined.  The  habit  of  actually  polishing 
the  surface  of  marble  was  introduced  in  the  latest 
age  of  classical  art,  and  may  be  illustrated  from 
many  Roman  Imperial  portraits.  The  well-known 
figure  of  the  Dying  Gladiator  in  the  Capitoline 
Museum  at  Rome  is  polished,  but  this  may  be  due 
to  an  endeavour  to  imitate  the  surface  of  a  bronze 
original.  In  bronze,  where  effect  is  bold  and 
strong,  the  glitter  is  not  prejudicial,  but  in  marble 
it  is  objectionable  because  of  the  reflections  which 
destroy  all  breadth  as  well  as  all  delicacy  of  tone- 
effect  on  which  a  good  deal  of  the  beauty  of  the 
white  softly-modelled  figure  depends.  Hence  the 
fine  finish  of  the  best  Greek  statues  stopped  short 
of  any  polishing  process. 

Again,  the  masonry  of  the  great  temples  was  so 
exquisite  in  its  precision  that  a  cella-wall,  of 
squared  and  carefully  fitted  blocks,  would  have 
appeared  like  a  single  slab  of  marble.  To  secure 
evenness  in  the  lines  of  the  flutings  of  the  columns, 
these  were  not  cut  till  the  successive  drums  were 
fixed  in  their  places  and  the  shaft  complete.  A 
Greek  stone-cutter  would  have  been  scandalized  at 
the  idea  of  running  his  mouldings  in  *  wavy  lines ' 
or  varying  by  a  hair's  breadth  for  artistic  reasons 
the  given  profile.  It  is  true  that  the  masonry  of 
the  Parthenon  is  not  mathematically  correct  in  the 
matter  of  the  dimensions  of  the  parts.  Sizes  of 
similar  details  differ  a  little  throughout  the  edifice, 
but  these  variations  (when  they  are  not  conditioned 
by  optical  reasons)  are  due,  as  Professor  Durm  has 
shown,  rather  to  the  inevitable  imperfection  of  all 
human  work,  than  to   any  predisposition  against 


ACCURACY  OF   GREEK  WORK  251 

rigid  accuracy.^  The  aim  of  the  Greek  craftsman 
was  always  definite  perfection  of  form,  and  when 
this  was  obtained  there  was  no  care  to  conceal  it 
beneath  a  mantle  of  surface-effect  or  to  cast  over 
it  the  glamour  of  texture.  No  one  however  on 
these  grounds  accuses  Greek  work  of  rigidity  and 
hardness,  and  denies  it  the  true  artistic  charm. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  how  far  do  these  canons 
of  Hellenic  work  apply,  let  us  say,  to  the  French 
decoration  of  the  Louis  Quatorze  or  Louis  Seize 
periods,  or  to  the  products  of  modern  industrial  art 
now  condemned  for  their  artistic  sterility?  The 
answer  is  not  difficult.  The  Greeks  could  afford 
to  aim  at  distinctness  and  decision  when  their 
forms  were  thoroughly  well  thought  out  and 
elaborated  under  the  guidance  of  the  finest  artistic 
tact,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  debased  forms  of 
modern  industrial  art  products  (and  to  a  less 
degree  the  soulless  though  accomplished  carved 
and  moulded  work  of  the  French  decorators  of 
Versailles  and  Fontainebleau)  can  make  no  claim 
to  stand  out  in  this  independent  fashion.  The 
lifeless  accuracy  of  machine-made  or  finished 
'  goods,'  and  even  the  nettete  of  French  work 
(unless  when  we  have  it  at  its  very  best)  is  quite  a 
different  thing  from  the  living  accuracy  of  the 
Greek,  where  everything  is  what  it  is  down  to  the 
minutest  detail  for  good  and  sufficient  artistic 
reasons. 

The  fact  is  that  there  are  two  kinds  or  types  of 
artistic  work  each  excellent  in  its  way,  the  differing 
characteristics  of  which  should  be  kept  apart  in 
^  Die  Baukunst  der  Griechen^  Darmstadt,  1881,  p.  108  fF. 


252       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

the  mind,  (i)  There  is  the  clear-cut  art  of  the 
Greeks,  perfect  in  form,  where  we  obtain  decision 
without  hardness,  and  can  indulge  in  the  most 
narrow  inspection  of  details  without  finding  any 
want  of  sensitiveness  in  the  surface-treatment ; 
but  (2)  there  is  another  sort  of  work  altogether, 
best  represented  in  medieval  artistic  products,  in 
which  there  is  no  great  elaboration  or  refinement 
of  form,  but  at  the  same  time  a  general  artistic 
charm  of  the  most  delightful  and  sympathetic 
kind.  When  Mr.  Prior,  who  has  written  so  well 
about  our  English  Gothic  art,^  spoke  once  of 
the  *  beautiful  harmonies  of  Texture,  which  the 
architects  of  old  had  composed  with  the  common 
materials  of  their  buildings,  the  rough  burnt  brick, 
the  rough  burnt  tile,  the  hand-shaped  timber,  and 
the  hand-cast  plaster,  thatch  and  tarred  boarding, 
lead  lattice,  and  bubbled  glass,  traceries  of  wrought 
iron,  incrustations  of  moulded  lead,'  he  was  refer- 
ring to  the  work  of  the  Romanesque  and  Gothic 
periods,  and  to  what  may  be  called  domestic,  as 
opposed  to  monumental,  building  and  decoration 
from  the  middle  ages  to  nearly  our  own  time.  It 
is  this  style  of  work  that  the  modern  connoisseur 
has  in  view  when  he  praises  irregularity  and  play. 
It  is  here  that  we  find  the  magic  of  suggestion, 
the  variety,  the  light-and-shade,  that  build  up  for 
us  a  vague  but  pleasing  artistic  impression,  and  we 
may  gain  the  full  value  from  this  class  of  effects, 
without  depreciating  work  which  has  other  and 
perhaps  far  higher  claims. 

We  may  now  sum  up  the  foregoing. 

^  Gothic  Art  in  England^  London,  1899. 


CONDITIONS   OF   FORMAL  BEAUTY        253 

(i)  In  order  to  receive  the  impression  of  formal 
beauty  in  a  work  of  art  we  must  take  in  at  once 
the  whole  and  the  parts,  attending  primarily  to  the 
general  effect,  and  realizing  the  parts  in  and 
through  their  relation  to  that  effect. 

(2)  This  formal  beauty  may  reside  in  the 
relation  of  definite  clear-cut  forms,  or  it  may  de- 
pend rather  upon  the  play  of  a  varied  surface,  and 
on  the  melting  of  one  form  into  another  when 
decision  gives  place  to  suggestiveness. 

§  122.  The  Conditions  of  Formal  Beauty  in  the  Arts. 

The  conditions  of  formal  beauty  in  Composition 
may  be  reduced  to  three — Clearness  of  arrange- 
ment. Repetition  or  Regularity,  and  Contrast  or 
Variety.  There  must  be  clearness  of  arrangement 
that  the  eye  may  be  able  to  find  its  way  among 
the  elements  of  the  composition ;  enough  similarity 
among  these  for  the  eye  to  be  able  to  rest  and  feel 
at  home,  enough  variety  to  prevent  its  becoming 
fatigued  and  indifferent.  The  physiology  of  the 
matter  is  evident.  In  a  composition,  say,  of  a 
picture,  or  of  the  facade  of  a  building,  if  there  is  a 
medley  of  lines  all  running  in  different  directions, 
the  eye  in  following  them  is  distracted  and  worried; 
it  seeks  to  find  a  way  through  the  maze,  but  is 
continually  balked  and  turned  aside.  The  same 
is  the  case  if  the  lines  all  seem  to  lead  away  out 
of  the  composition  in  different  directions  ;  the  eye 
then  parts  from  the  work  and  has  each  time  to  be 
brought  back  to  it  from  the  outside.  Dissatisfac- 
tion results  naturally  from  the  jarring  and  irregular 
muscular  movements  thus  caused,  whereas  if  the 


254       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

lines  are  arranged  in  ordered  groups,  with  a  way 
through  them^  and  with  a  certain  repetition  of 
forms,  the  eye  feels  at  ease,  and  takes  pleasure  in 
following  the  well-marked  or  remembered  tracks. 
This  is  just  the  physiological  side  of  the  artistic 
principles  we  have  already  dealt  with  in  other 
connections.  That  a  work  of  art  should  be  a 
unity,  that  harmony  should  be  studied  in  the 
relations  of  the  parts,  are  principles  which  have  a 
physiological  as  well  as  a  rational  basis. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  eye  be  asked  to  do  the 
same  thing  too  often — to  follow  the  same  track 
over  and  over  again — the  result  is  boredom,  and 
dissatisfaction  of  another  kind.  Unless  there  be 
sufficient  change  of  direction  in  the  lines  con- 
cerned, or  sufficient  Contrast,  the  same  result 
follows  as  in  the  case  of  the  prolonged  exercise  of 
any  single  power.  The  organs  of  vision  demand 
the  relief  of  change,  though  they  fret  at  mere  aim- 
less zigzagging.  The  matter  will  be  simplified  if 
we  note  the  differing  characteristics  of  a  few 
familiar  figures  of  a  simple  kind,  in  relation  to  the 
above  three  conditions  of  formal  beauty. 

§  123.  Beauty  in  simple  Figures. 

(i)  Generally  speaking,  figures  bounded  by 
curves  are  more  pleasing  than  those  made  up  of 
straight  lines.  The  eye  is  more  disposed  to  follow 
a  curve  and  the  latter  has  also  the  element  of 
Variety,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  rectilinear 
form  has  the  advantage  in  Clearness  and  in 
Regularity. 

(2)  The  square  and  the  circle  are  the  simplest 


BEAUTY  IN   SIMPLE  FIGURES  255 

figures  of  the  two  kinds.  They  possess  Clearness 
and  Regularity  but  the  element  of  Contrast  is  but 
slight. 

(3)  Figures  that  are  nearly  but  not  quite  square 
or  circular  offend  because  they  are  not  Clear.  The 
eye  does  not  know  how  to  take  them,  Regularity 
and  Contrast  are  at  odds  in  them. 

(4)  The  most  pleasing  figures  of  both  kinds  are 
those  which  have  a  pronounced  element  of  Contrast 
while  the  unity  of  effect  is  still  preserved. 

In  the  case  of  curved  figures,  if  the  circle  is  too 
regular,  the  oval  with  circular  ends  offends  through 
its  want  of  clearness — it  is  a  circle  yet  at  the  same 
time  not  a  circle.  On  the  other  hand  the  ellipse 
unites  some  of  the  most  important  aesthetic  quali- 
ties of  form.  It  is  Clear,  because  its  bounding 
line  changes  its  direction  according  to  a  law  of  its 
own  quite  distinct  from  the  law  governing  the 
sweep  of  the  circle  ;  it  has  Variety,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  symmetry  of  the  design  keeps  it 
studiously  uniform.  One  further  step  in  the  direc- 
tion of  emphasising  the  element  of  Variety  is  taken 
when  the  elliptical  figure  is  turned  to  that  of  an 
eggy  another  when  it  becomes  pear-shaped.  These 
forms  differ  in  that  the  ellipse  is  so  far  symmetrical 
that  it  can  be  cut  by  the  two  diameters  into  four 
equal  sections,  the  egg  falls  into  two  equal  sections 
on  each  side  of  the  long  axis,  while  in  the  pear- 
shape  there  is  no  exact  repetition  of  the  parts.  In 
itself  the  egg-form  may  be  pronounced  on  the 
whole  to  be  the  best,  and  it  will  be  observed  that 
this  is  the  generating  form  of  most  of  the  beautiful 
Greek  vases, 


256       THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS  BEAUTIFUL 

Similarly  in  the  case  of  rectilinear  figures.  The 
rectangle  in  all  its  modifications  has  the  advantage 
in  Regularity  over  all  rhomboidal  and  even  poly- 
gonal forms,  and  is  so  largely  the  predominant 
figure  in  architectural  compositions  that  it  is  all  we 
need  take  account  of  here.  Among  rectangular 
figures  the  square  holds  the  same  relative  position 
as  the  circle  among  curved — it  is  too  Regular  for 
the  highest  beauty,  while  a  parallelogram  that  is 
nearly  but  not  quite  a  square  offends  against  the 
canon  of  Clearness.  It  has  often  been  asked 
whether  or  not  there  is  a  perfect  rectangle,  one  in 
which  the  relation  between  the  short  side  and  the 
long  is  absolutely  satisfying,  so  that  we  feel  any- 
thing added  or  taken  away  from  length  or  breadth 
would  detract  from  the  harmonious  proportions  of 
the  whole.  The  German  writer  Zeising  adduced 
for  this  purpose  the  so-called  *  golden  section  * 
found  in  the  following  way.  *  Divide  a  line,'  he 
said,  '  at  such  a  point  that  the  smaller  part  bears 
to  the  larger  the  same  relation  that  the  larger  bears 
to  the  whole.  Take  the  larger  and  the  smaller  for 
the  two  sides  of  the  rectangle,  and  an  ideally 
perfect  proportion  is  secured.'  The  relation  thus 
constituted  cannot  be  numerically  represented,  but 
the  proportions  5  :  8  or  8  :  1 3  are  approximate,  and 
it  will  certainly  be  found  that  a  rectangle  of  which 
the  sides  bear  this  proportion  is  pleasing  to  the 
eye.  The  difference  between  length  and  breadth 
is  marked  enough  and  yet  not  too  pronounced. 
There  is  Contrast,  w^hile  the  general  harmony  of 
effect  is  still  unbroken. 


SUCH   BEAUTY   IS   RELATIVE  257 

§  124.  Such  Beauty  is  not  an  absolute  quality. 

It  may  be  remarked  on  this,  that  as  explained 
in  the  abstract  in  §§  98  f.,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind 
there  can  be  no  absolute  best,  because  the  aesthetic 
judgment  can  rarely,  if  ever,  be  sufficiently  dis- 
interested to  decide  on  grounds  of  purely  formal 
satisfaction.  Other  considerations  are  bound  to 
make  themselves  felt  as  a  disturbing  influence.  A 
rectangle  or  a  curved  figure  in  architecture  or 
sculpture  or  painting  is  not  a  mere  form,  but  it  has 
some  special  use  or  function,  or  represents  some- 
thing in  nature.  These  external  relations  are  con- 
tinually moulding  the  forms  used  by  the  artist,  and 
make  them  other  than  they  would  be  if  created  to 
supply  mere  physiological  pleasure  to  the  organs 
of  vision.  Thus  it  may  be  perfectly  true  that  a 
rectangle  of  about  5  to  8  is  a  pleasing  form  and 
will  for  that  reason  make  its  appearance  in  archi- 
tectural compositions,  as  defining  the  whole  mass 
or  its  main  divisions  or  detailed  portions  such  as 
window-openings.  Yet  we  must  remember  that 
there  are  many  considerations  besides  abstract 
beauty  that  go  to  determine  architectural  forms. 
A  form  may  be  extended  in  one  direction  beyond 
the  limits  of  pure  beauty  in  order  to  increase  its 
significance,  as  in  the  case  of  the  upward  elonga- 
tion of  the  proportions  in  Gothic.  The  square 
form  for  an  elevation  would  be  rejected  on  purely 
aesthetic  grounds,  but  Mr.  Ruskin  especially  praises 
the  *  mighty  square '  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  at 
Florence    for    its    look    of    concentrated     power.^ 

Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture ^  2d  ed.,  Lond.  1855,  p.  70. 
R 


258      THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS   BEAUTIFUL 

Again  in  all  construction,  though  the  curved  form 
may  be  more  beautiful  in  itself  than  the  straight, 
yet  when  the  idea  of  support  has  to  be  conveyed, 
the  rigidity  of  the  latter  makes  it  far  preferable. 
Hence  the  straight  legs  of  Louis  Seize  couches  are 
to  be  preferred  to  the  cabriole  legs  of  the  Louis 
Quinze  period  when  curves  were  everywhere.  In 
the  human  figure  the  strength  of  the  male  is 
expressed  by  lines  approaching  nearer  to  the 
straight  than  those  which  bound  the  softer  and 
more  swelling  forms  of  the  woman.  The  sculptor 
will  continually  sacrifice  pure  beauty  in  these 
respects  to  expression,  though  when  judging 
simply  by  the  eye  he  will  recognize  a  difference  of 
abstract  beauty  in  simple  curved  figures. 

§  125.  Formal  Beauty  of  Composition,  in  Architecture ; 

The  same  principles  that  apply  to  beauty  in 
simple  forms  obtain  also  in  the  higher  walks  of 
Composition.  This  pure  pleasure  of  the  eye  is 
provided  for  by  the  architect,  when  he  marshals 
his  grand  masses  and  plans  out  his  smaller  sub- 
divisions ;  by  the  sculptor,  when  he  secures  a 
*  flow  of  line '  throughout  his  group  ;  by  the 
painter,  when  he  distributes  his  tones  and  colours, 
and  sketches  in  his  forms.  There  is  always  in- 
volved a  balance  of  the  same  qualities  just  noticed.- 
The  forms  of  architecture,  depending  mainly  as . 
they  do  on  construction,  are  clear  and  decided, 
and  necessarily  involve  a  large  amount  of  Repeti- 
tion. The  rectangular  mass  of  the  whole  monu- 
ment IS  broken  into  smaller  rectangular  masses, 
and  these  are  subdivided  by  horizontal  and  vertical 


FORMAL  BEAUTY  IN  ARCHITECTURE  259 

features  and  pierced  by  rectangular  openings. 
Repetition  is  secured  by  the  symmetrical  arrange- 
ment of  these  divisions  on  each  side  of  a  centre. 
Contrast  by  the  introduction  of  oblique  or  curved 
forms,  especially  in  some  predominant  feature  such 
as  the  dome  or  spire. 

The  value  of  a  unifying  element  in  architectural 
design,  and  the  importance  of  Repetition  in 
emphasising  form  or  direction,  are  illustrated  by 
the  development  of  Mouldings.  Though  the  parts 
of  an  architectural  composition  are  necessarily 
bound  together  in  a  certain  statical  relation,  yet 
the  connection  may  in  complicated  structures 
become  so  loose  to  the  eye  that  a  binding  link 
seems  imperatively  required.  This  is  supplied  by 
the  long  sweep  of  the  moulding  which  follows  an 
even  flight  along  the  mass,  turning  the  flank  of 
projections,  penetrating  hollows,  and  reappearing 
on  the  same  level  at  the  most  distant  point  of  the 
elevation.  Such  a  feature  appears  as  a  Line,  and 
the  value  of  lines  so  used  in  bringing  a  composi- 
tion into  harmony  cannot  be  over-estimated. 
Again,  whether  these  mouldings  extend  in  a  hori- 
zontal or  vertical  course  along  or  up  and  down  a 
rectangular  mass,  or  else  follow  the  curve  of  an  arch, 
they  always  tend  to  a  multiplication  of  lines  in 
the  given  direction.  Thus  the  outline  of  the 
Gothic  arch,  in  itself  a  pleasing  curved  form,  is 
emphasised  by  being  repeated  over  and  over  again 
by  the  lines  of  light-and-shade  in  the  richly 
profiled  moulding,  and  the  same  applies  to  moulded 
bases  both  Greek  and  Gothic.  The  reduplicatiou 
of  the  lines  does  not  weary  the  eye.     The  alter- 


26o      THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS   BEAUTIFUL 

nation  of  light  and  shade  due  to  the  alternate 
projection  and  recess  of  the  moulding  gives  Variety 
and  the  Repetition  in  direction  serves  to  secure 
the  essential  element  of  repose. 

On  the  whole,  the  forms  used  by  the  architect 
are  surprisingly  simple,  and  would  indeed  be 
ineffective  were  it  not  for  the  grand  quality  secured 
to  the  architectural  monument  by  its  inherent 
mass.  The  powerful  aesthetic  effect  of  this  is 
really  aided  by  the  regularity  and  simplicity  of 
the  elements  of  the  composition.  Forms  in  them- 
selves more  varied  and  pleasing  might  not  combine 
so  well  into  the  unity  of  the  single  grand  impres- 
sion of  the  Sublime.  Hence  the  contentment  of 
the  architect  with  the  straight  line  and  the  arc  of 
the  circle,  which  as  we  have  seen  (§  78)  in  nearly 
every  case  are  the  bounding  lines  of  his  more  con- 
spicuous forms.  Part  indeed  of  the  dignity  of  the 
architectural  monument  is  due  to  the  noble 
simplicity  of  its  contours. 

§  126.  and  Sculpture; 

When  we  pass  from  architecture  to  sculpture, 
we  have  to  deal  with  an  art  which,  though 
dependent  to  some  extent  on  grandeur  of  aspect, 
cannot  be  in  this  respect  a  rival  of  the  architectural 
monument,  and  makes  up  for  the  deficiency  by 
greater  complexity  and  beauty  in  the  parts.  The 
curves  of  the  statue  or  group  are  exquisitely  varied, 
and  we  may  find  that  different  forms  of  the  egg- 
shape,  with  its  contrast  of  fuller  and  sharper  curves, 
on  the  whole  prevail.  If  we  examine  from  this 
point  of  view  the  classical  figure  of  the  Venus  de' 


FORMAL  BEAUTY   IN   SCULPTURE         261 

Medici  (with  the  arms  removed),  which  has  great 
formal  beauty  though  little  elevation  of  type,  we 
shall  see  how  much  depends  on  such  contrast 
between  rounded  thigh  and  delicate  knee,  between 
the  spacious,  broadly-treated  shoulders  and  the 
more  rapid  fall  and  rise  of  the  sacral  depression 
and  the  gluteus.  Or  turn  from  this  to  the  Theseus 
(see  Frontispiece)  where  the  curves  are  stark  and 
strong,  yet  contrasted  on  the  same  principle  01 
giving  stimulus  to  the  eye  without  fatiguing  it 
with  too  much  variety.  One  favourite  device  01 
the  Greek  sculptors  to  secure  this  end  was  to 
oppose  in  juxtaposition  massively  rounded  forms, 
as  of  the  nude,  with  richly  detailed  passages,  as  in 
the  crisp  drapery  with  its  innumerable  folds.  The 
eye  takes  delight  in  exploring  the  complexities  of 
the  latter,  but  soon  turns  for  change  to  the  simpler 
masses,  which  appear  nobly  restful  in  contrast. 
The  reposeful  effect  of  the  nude  awakes  in 
turn  a  desire  for  more  active  exercise,  which  is 
provided  by  the  mazy  convolutions  of  the  folded 
garment. 

As  in  architecture  so  here.  Any  tendency  of 
the  forms  to  appear  too  broken  and  separate  is 
counteracted  by  the  creation  of  certain  dominant 
lines,  which  secure  Clearness  by  guiding  the  eye 
through  the  composition,  and  embrace  in  a  single 
sweep  the  boundaries  of  many  of  the  masses  in 
combination.  The  well-known  Discobolus  of 
Myron  (Plate  V)  is  a  capital  example  of  such  a 
use  of  line.  The  eye  follows  the  contours  in  a 
single  sweep,  from  the  hand  with  the  discus  along 
the  right  arm  across  the  shoulders  and  down  the 


262      THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS    BEAUTIFUL 

left  arm,  whence  it  passes  along  the  left  leg  to  the 
foot.  Here  is  one  large  line  dominating  the  whole 
composition  and  giving  the  repose  and  unity 
required  by  art,  while  there  is  the  needful  opposi- 
tion supplied  by  the  strong  zigzag  of  the  bowed 
torso  and  the  bent  right  leg,  which  brings  the 
whole  again  into  full  vitality  and  vigour. 

§  127.  and  Painting. 

The  art  of  painting,  save  when  it  is  only  repro- 
ducing the  impressions  given  by  architecture  and 
sculpture,  relies  less  than  the  plastic  art  upon 
beauty  of  form.  We  have  already  seen  that  the 
most  artistic  painting  is  that  in  which  form  is 
understood  rather  than  emphasised,  and  which 
gives  a  general  impression  of  tone  and  colour.  At 
the  same  time,  though  the  picture  does  not  consist 
of  figures  definitely  circumscribed,  yet  the  elements 
of  the  composition  have  amongst  them  certain 
relations  of  form,  on  which  depends  the  broad 
general  effect  of  the  piece.  It  is  true  that  there  is 
a  harmony  in  colouring  that  is  independent  of  the 
shape  or  size  of  the  tinted  spaces,  just  as  a  tone- 
study  may  be  effective  through  mere  contrast  of 
light  and  darkness.  Yet  in  practice  we  speak 
continually  of  the  *  masses  '  of  light  and  shadow,  or 
of  a  *  sweep  of  colour,'  through  a  picture,  and  the 
skilful  disposition  of  these  elements,  as  formSy  is 
a  great  part  of  the  mystery  of  pictorial  composition. 
Such  composition  will  necessarily  have  less  formal 
regularity,  because  less  decision  in  the  shapes, 
than  is  the  case  either  in  architecture  or  in  sculpture, 
but  it  is  none  the  less  amenable  to  the  same  laws, 


FORMAL  BEAUTY   IN   PAINTING  263 

and  its  success  will  depend  equally  on  Clearness, 
Regularity  and  Contrast. 

§  128.   How  far  is  Pictorial  Composition  amenable  to 
formal  Laws? 

Pictorial  composition  is  so  varied  in  its  possi- 
bilities that  it  is  sometimes  forgotten  how  severe 
an  element  of  restraint  is  provided  by  the  frame 
or  mural-setting.  The  field  of  composition  is 
always  precisely  bounded,  and  though  in  mural 
work  it  may  conform  to  various  geometrical 
figures,  in  the  case  of  the  modern  cabinet  picture 
it  is  nearly  always  a  rectangle.  The  first  duty  of 
the  composition  is  to  fill  this  set  space  with  a 
pleasing  combination  of  forms,  or  passages  of  tone 
and  colour,  arranged  on  the  principles  here  under 
discussion,  and  these  must  have  relation  to  the 
whole  space  as  well  as  to  each  other.  Rules  which 
have  now  a  somewhat  antiquated  sound  used  to 
be  formulated  for  pictorial  composition,  as  it  was 
understood  in  the  great  Italian  schools  of  figure- 
painting  in  the  sixteenth  century.  *  Let  your 
chief  mass  or  group,'  it  was  said,  *be  of  a  pyramidal 
form ' ;  '  divide  your  objects  or  figures  into  two 
masses  or  groups,  one  the  chief  mass  or  group  of 
the  picture,  the  other  much  smaller  but  of  a  well- 
calculated  relation  to  it ' ;  '  keep  your  principal 
object,  your  highest  light,  or  your  most  intense 
colour  well  towards  the  middle  of  your  field, 
though  of  course  not  rigidly  in  the  centre  of  it.' 
These  and  similar  precepts  are  now  out  of  date, 
and  the  independence  and  experimental  character 
of   modern    painting    brook    ill    the    restraint   of 


264      THE  WORK   OF  ART  AS    BEAUTIFUL 

formulae  ;  yet  the  painter  is  none  the  less  observ- 
ing all  the  time  certain  unwritten  laws,  based  on 
essentially  the  same  principles  as  the  old.  A 
generation  ago,  should  an  artistic  formula  issue 
clothed  with  authority  from  the  atelier  of  a 
Delaroche,  the  Courbets  of  the  day  would  (figura- 
tively) tear  it  to  shreds  by  painting  better  pictures 
in  exactly  the  opposite  way ;  nowadays  if  a 
Reynolds  of  St.  John's  Wood  were  to  lay  down 
any  principle  of  treatment,  a  Gainsborough  from 
Holland  Park  would  practically  controvert  it  in 
the  next  Academy,  while  it  is  possible  that  a 
satirical  voice  from  another  artistic  quarter  might 
pipe  an  incisive  epigram  on  the  theories  and 
practice  of  both.  But  the  truth  remains  all  the 
time  the  same,  that  the  practice  of  painting,  like 
that  of  every  other  art,  is  not  a  mere  matter  of 
individual  caprice,  but  must  conform  to  general 
principles  of  artistic  treatment. 

Even  Constable,  an  Independent  and  a 
Naturalist  in  a  conventional  age,  recognized  this. 
To  a  young  painter  who  had  been  boasting  that 
he  studied  no  man's  works  but  only  nature,  he 
remarked  once,  *  Well,  but  after  all,  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  the  Art!  It  is  impossible  in  any  form  of 
artistic  practice  to  ignore  ^ the  Art '^  and  the  elements 
of  a  good  picture  are  in  a  sense  just  as  artificially 
put  together  by  the  modern  Impressionist,  as  they 
were  in  old  time  by  the  pupils  of  a  Raphael  or  a 
Le  Brun.  The  difference  is  that  the  art  is  more 
cunningly  concealed,  and  to  the  uninitiated  the 
effect  is  made  to  look  spontaneous.  It  is  not 
really    spontaneous,    for    the    good    impressionist 


*THE  ART'    IN    PAINTING  265 

picture  is  the  result  of  very  careful  study  and 
of  experiments  in  arrangement,  the  extent  of 
which  is  a  studio- secret  hidden  from  the  admirer 
of  the  completed  result  as  '  something  so  fresh 
and  natural.'  '  The  Art ' — of  making  up  a  good 
picture — is  just  the  judicious  balancing  of  those 
opposite  qualities  so  often  spoken  of  in  the 
preceding  pages  as  Unity  and  Diversity,  Har- 
mony and  Strength  of  effect,  Repetition  and 
Contrast — for  these  are  only  different  ways  of 
putting  the  same  idea.  Yonder  dab  of  light,  in 
the  middle-distance  of  that  impressionist  landscape, 
is  introduced  to  save  the  harmony  of  tender  greys 
from  flatness  and  lack  of  interest.  It  was  put  in 
too  light  at  first,  and  drew  the  attention  unduly  to 
that  particular  part  of  the  picture,  and  it  has  been 
*  out '  half-a-dozen  times  before  its  exact  relation 
as  light  to  the  rest  of  the  tone-composition  was 
determined.  Then  it  was  originally  placed  a  trifle 
further  to  the  right  hand,  and  was  found  to  be  too 
directly  under  the  point  in  the  grey  sky  where 
the  light  is  struggling  through  the  clouds.  Now 
we  see,  in  the  finished  piece,  that  it  lies  on  the 
line  of  a  pleasant  curve  with  this  point  and  the 
light  on  the  heap  of  stones  in  the  foreground,  and 
brings  these  two  into  a  connection  which  makes 
for  the  general  harmony.  The  position  and  the 
intensity  of  this  patch  of  light  is  just  as  much  the 
concern  of  the  art  of  composition  as  the  massing 
of  the  parts  of  a  Gothic  fagade,  or  the  drawing 
together  of  the  lower  limbs  of  the  Theseus  so  as 
to  round  off  the  effect  of  the  whole  figure.  Here 
again,  as  in  sculpture,  will  be  found  the  value  of 


266      THE  WORK  OF  ART  AS   BEAUTIFUL 

Line,  the  magic  potency  of  which  will  avail  to  bind 
the  scattered  elements  that  straggle  about  within 
the  frame  into  an  organic  unity,  whereon  the  eye 
will  dwell  contented  as  upon  a  work  not  of  nature 
or  of  chance,  but  of  the  order-giving  imagination 
of  a  rational  man. 


PART  III 

THE    ARTS    OF    FORM 


CHAPTER    I 

ARCHITECTURAL    BEAUTY   IN   RELATION   TO 
CONSTRUCTION 

§  129.  The  Elements  of  Architectural  Effect :  Summary 
of  Earlier  Sections 

It  will  be  convenient  at  the  outset  of  this  chapter 
to  recall  the  architectural  principles  that  have  been 
discussed  in  previous  sections.  Architecture  has 
been  presented  (§  17)  as  an  art  dependent  to  a 
substantial  extent  on  utilitarian  considerations,  but 
at  the  same  time  from  the  first  an  art  of  expres- 
sion, that  has  its  birth  in  the  festal  structure,  not 
the  mere  structure  for  use.  It  is  distinctively  an 
art  of  Form  (§  80) ;  effects  of  Colour,  though  they 
may  add  aesthetic  charm,  are  not  of  its  essence,  and 
are  most  suitably  introduced  as  a  compensation 
when  the  material  of  the  fabric  is  in  itself  of  an 
inferior  kind  and  is  in  need  of  clothing.  The 
primary  and  most  powerful  means  of  expression 
in  architecture  is  by  imposing  Mass  (§  102)  which 
conveys  the  aesthetic  impression  of  the  Sublime, 
but  architecture  is  expressive  in   more  articulate 


270  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

fashion  when  through  the  special  features  which 
constitute  the  historical  Styles  (§  105)  its  forms 
become  eloquent  of  the  ideas  of  successive  ages. 
Architectural  Beauty,  as  distinct  from  the  Sub- 
limity of  Mass,  is  due  to  Composition  (§  125),  that 
is  to  the  breaking  up  of  the  whole  into  subsidiary 
portions  related  to  each  other  and  to  the  mass  on 
some  pleasing  scheme  of  proportion.  Finally,  an 
aid  to  Composition  of  essential  value  is  furnished 
by  sundry  minor  features  such  as  Mouldings 
(§  125),  which  are  used  to  accentuate  certain 
forms  or  to  combine  part  with  part  by  connecting 
lines. 

In  accordance  with  the  foregoing,  the  charac- 
teristics to  be  desired  in  the  architectural  monu- 
ment may  be  thus  formulated. 

I.  The  building  must  have  its  spaces  so  disposed 
that  the  various  purposes  for  which  it  was  erected 
are  completely  and  conveniently  fulfilled. 

II.  It  should  be  solidly  constructed  of  materials 
suitably  chosen,  and  employed  in  a  manner 
correspondent  to  the  character  of  each. 

III.  It  ought  to  possess  two,  or  at  any  rate  one 
of  two,  aesthetic  qualities,  (i)  Sublimity,  if  its 
dimensions  and  character  permit,  and  (2)  Beauty 
in  composition  of  masses,  tones  and  lines. 

IV.  It  should  not  only  be  aesthetically  pleasing 
but  significant,  and  this  in  two  respects,  (i)  as 
expressing  in  its  outward  aspect  the  nature  of  its 
construction,  (2)  as  proclaiming  and  exalting  the 
functions,  civil,  national  or  religious,  it  is  designed 
to  serve. 

It  is  obvious  that  these  various  characteristics 


ART  AND   USE   IN  ARCHITECTURE        271 

of  the  ideal  architectural  monument  fall  into  two 
groups.  Some  are  prescribed  by  considerations 
of  utility  or  tectonics,^  and  others  by  considerations 
of  art,  and  it  is  a  question  whether  utility  or 
structural  consistency  and  art  will  always  be  found 
to  demand  the  same  thing.  It  must  not  be 
supposed  that  the  useful  and  the  beautiful  are  in 
their  nature  antithetical.  The  same  product  may 
satisfy  both  aesthetic  and  utilitarian  demands, 
while  as  explained  in  §  106,  there  is  even  a  direct 
aesthetic  interest  attaching  to  objects  or  creatures 
that  are  perfectly  formed  for  use.  There  is  a 
popular  notion. that  art  ceases  to  be  art  when  it 
serves  a  useful  purpose,  but  recent  observations 
have  shown  that  such  a  purpose  may  be  incident- 
ally served  without  the  product  or  act  in  question 
ceasing  to  be  artistic  (§  4).  This  may  all  be  true, 
and  yet  the  broad  fact  remains  that  beauty  and 
usefulness  by  no  means  necessarily  co-exist,  and 
their  interests  may  often  appear  antagonistic. 
Hence  in  the  creation  of  an  architectural  work 
that  has  to  be  at  once  convenient,  sound  in 
structure,  and  aesthetically  satisfying,  the  designer 
may  find  himself  beset  by  claims  from  opposite 
sides  that  are  hard  to  reconcile.  We  are  brought 
here  into  contact  with  the  fundamental  problem  of 
architectural  practice. 

^  This  convenient  term  which  the  Germans  have  borrowed  from 
the  Greek  language  means  the  philosophy  of  construction.  The 
*  tectonic  style,'  as  defined  by  H.  Brunn  in  connection  with  Greek 
decorative  art,  is  a  style  of  treatment  dependent  on  a  nice  sense 
of  structure  and  of  the  guidance  which  structure  gives  to  the 
designer. 


272  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

§  130.  The  Relation  of  Utility  and  Art  in  Architecture. 

That  architectural  practice  is  based  on  utility 
but  rises  out  of  this  sphere  into  that  of  artistic 
expression  was  noticed  long  ago  by  Vitruvius, 
when  he  said  of  the  public  buildings  of  a  city  that 
they  should  exhibit  Stability,  Convenience,  and 
Beauty.^  The  question  is  What  relation  should 
exist  between  the  first  two  of  these  and  Beauty. 
Some  architectural  theorists  hold  that  considera- 
tions of  art  should  be  in  direct  and  constant 
subordination  to  those  of  utility  and  structure,  so 
that  the  building  becomes  what  it  is  through  a 
process  of  logical  deduction  from  its  *  program '  or 
formula  of  requirements  ;  while  others  would  claim 
for  the  architectural  designer  an  artistic  freedom 
in  the  creation  of  forms  not  logically  deducible 
from  the  program.  M.  Viollet-le-Duc,  in  his 
Entretiens  sur  r Architecture^  insists  on  the  need 
for  subordination  of  the  strictest  kind,  and  sums 
up  his  view  of  the  most  important  principles  of 
architecture  in  the  words  *  respect  absolu  pour  le 
vraV. 

It  may  be  said  at  once  that  this  motto  *  in  all 
things  truth'  is  a  sound  one,  but  hardly  covers  the 
whole  field  of  legitimate  architectural  practice.  It 
is  indeed  somewhat  too  simple  and  straightforward 
to  correspond  with  all  the  actual  facts  of  art.  There 
are  certain  theories  of  the  arts,  of  which  this  is 
one,  that  are  apt  to  mislead  through  their  tempt- 

^  Haec  autem  ita  fieri  debent  ut  habeatur  ratio  firmitatis  utilitatis 
venustatis.     De  Architedurd^  i.  3,  2. 
2  Paris,  1863,  I.  p.  333  note. 


TRUTH    IN  ARCHITECTURE  273 

ingly  easy  and  logical  appearance.  Of  such  a  kind 
is  the  once-famous  pre-Raffaelite  theory  of  painting, 
according  to  which  a  close  adherence  to  nature  is 
the  one  secret  of  the  art.  There  is  no  question 
that  painting  is  bound  to  nature  as  the  source 
from  which  it  draws  the  breath  of  its  being,  and 
there  is  no  question  that  the  architect  ignores 
utility  or  truth  of  construction  at  his  peril,  for 
they  are  the  substantial  basis  of  all  his  work.  Yet 
on  the  other  hand,  in  the  case  of  all  the  arts,  it 
happens  not  seldom  that  the  element  which  gives 
a  work  its  special  value  is  just  that  element  which 
is  not  covered  by  these  plausible  theories.  The 
best  picture  is  not  always  that  which  is  nearest  to 
nature,  and  in  architecture  the  resources  of  the  art 
are  at  times  most  tellingly  displayed  in  the  use  of 
forms  and  details  that  are  not  strictly  dependent 
on  constructional  exigencies.  ^Esthetic  feeling 
may  demand  a  somewhat  free  treatment  of  con- 
struction, and  the  addition  of  features  for  which 
there  is  no  material  need. 

§  131.  The  theory  of  '  respect  absolu  pour  le  vrai ' 
tested  by  the  Doric  Fagade. 

The  insufficiency  of  the  above  theory  in  its 
rigid  form  will  be  at  once  apparent  when  we  test 
it  by  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  pieces  of  archi- 
tecture in  the  whole  annals  of  the  art — the  fagade 
of  the  Grecian  Doric  temple.  That  elevation  is  a 
typical  piece  of  well  thought-out  consistent  archi- 
tectural composition,  and  is  eulogized  by  writers 
of  all  schools.  Yet  it  is  only  to  a  very  modified 
extent  an   example  of  *  respect   for  truth.'     The 

s 


274  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

Utilitarian  demand  was  here  a  simple  one.  It  was 
merely  for  a  continuous  canopy  over  the  shrine 
within,  upborne  by  supports  that  should  admit 
of  free  access  to  and  circulation  about  the  shrine. 
The  detailed  forms  of  the  fagade  depend  not  on 
use  but  on  structure  and  material,  and  do  not 
correspond  with  these  with  complete  logical 
accuracy.  The  main  elements  of  the  construction 
— the  upright  supports  and  horizontal  architrave 
beams — are  indeed  clear  enough,  and  their  form 
and  their  function  agree  as  the  theory  demands. 
But  this  cannot  be  said  of  the  second  story  of  the 
entablature — the  frieze.  Absolutely  necessary  in 
the  scheme  of  proportion,  and  the  most  important 
decorative  feature  of  the  whole,  the  frieze  has  no 
constructive  significance.  For  all  practical  pur- 
poses it  is  just  a  second  story  added,  for  the  sake 
of  effect,  above  the  really  constructive  feature  of  the 
architrave,  and  as  for  its  special  forms,  what  use 
or  meaning  in  their  present  position  have  the 
triglyphs  and  metopes  ?  No  doubt  they  had  once 
their  significance,  but  this  is  only  to  be  determined 
by  archaeologists,  who,  as  a  fact,  cannot  yet  agree 
as  to  what  really  was  the  natural  history  of  these 
curious  features.  If  it  be  maintained  that  the 
triglyphs  are  constructive  elements  and  represent 
the  beam-ends  of  the  roof,  the  rejoinder  is  easy  : 
Once  upon  a  time  they  probably  did  possess  this 
character,  but  they  had  lost  it  long  before  the  date 
of  the  great  monumental  temples,  in  which  the 
stone  beams  of  the  portico-roof  are  lifted  on  to 
the  top  of  the  triglyphs  and  metopes,  and  are  in 
no  constructive  relation  thereto.      If  the   triglyph 


BEAUTY   IN   ARCHITECTURE  275 

mean  a  beam-end  it  is  a  sham  ;  if  it  have  no  such 
significance,  it  is  an  arbitrary  form  adopted  for 
artistic  reasons  and  out  of  all  relation  to  the  logic 
of  construction. 

§  132.  The  Architect  need  not  be  ashamed  of  Beauty, 
even  when  Independent  of  Construction. 

That  this  should  be  so,  is  no  reproach  to  the 
Greek  fa9ade,  which  is  a  noble  work  of  art  pos- 
sessed of  the  essential  elements  of  architectural 
beauty,  and  quite  as  *  true '  as  any  work  of  art 
need  ever  be.  It  is  however  an  argument  of  much 
weight  against  the  extreme  theory  of  *  respect 
absolu  pour  le  vrai.'  It  is  indeed  not  a  little 
curious  to  find  architects  prepared  to  define  their 
art  as  *  construction  beautified  *  but  nervously 
anxious  that  the  beauty  should  always  be  in  strict 
subordination  to  the  structure.  They  forget  that 
by  the  very  act  of  adding  beauty  to  their  work 
they  assert  their  artistic  freedom.  The  beauty  of 
the  building  may  be  in  a  close  and  organic 
relation  to  its  use  and  structure,  but  it  remains 
something  distinct  from  either.  As  a  product 
of  art  it  preserves  its  characteristics  of  inde- 
pendence and  spontaneity  which  have  been 
vindicated  for  it  on  a  previous  page  (§  4).  The 
addition  of  beauty  to  the  Vitruvian  stability  and 
convenience  is  an  act  of  choice  quite  outside  of 
the  sphere  of  utility.  If  we  glance  back  at  the 
history  of  civilized  humanity,  we  see  the  genius  of 
successive  ages  and  peoples  writing  with  the  pen 
of  beauty,  on  eternal  monuments,  the  record  of 
their  aspirations   and  deeds ;  in  every  epoch  we 


276  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

meet  the  architect  at  his  task  and  discern  in  him 
the  inspired  mouthpiece  of  his  people  and  his 
creed.  Remembering  all  that  the  architects  of  the 
past  have  been  able  to  express  in  the  pregnant 
language  of  their  craft,  their  modern  successor 
might  well  be  proud  enough  of  the  artistic  element 
in  his  work  to  allow  it  a  certain  free  range 
beyond  the  mere  bounds  of  the  program.  Why 
should  such  a  one  not  admit  that  architectural 
beauty  may  rightfully  claim,  in  its  relation  to 
utility,  something  of  the  same  latitude  which 
in  sculpture  and  painting  is  claimed  on  behalf 
of  artistic  effect  as  opposed  to  mere  truth  to 
nature?  Is  a  building  that  depends  for  its 
main  features  on  the  formula  of  requirements 
any  the  worse  because  it  adopts  in  freedom  such 
additional  features  as  are  needed  for  the  composi- 
tion ?  Are  we  not  justified  in  affirming  that  the 
practice  of  architecture,  like  that  of  painting  and 
sculpture,  rests  to  some  extent  on  conventions, 
and  is  not  a  logical  deduction  from  any  one  theory  ? 
The  beauty  and  significance  of  architecture  are 
not  slavishly  bound  down  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
more  material  side  of  the  craft.  From  the  first, 
let  it  be  again  repeated,  architecture  is  '  an  art  of 
free  and  spontaneous  expression,'  and  this  character, 
as  we  shall  presently  see,  remains  with  it  through- 
out its  long  and  varied  history. 

[§  133.  The  Principles  of  Architectural  Design. 

It  may  be  useful  to  throw  what  has  been  said 
into  a  practical  form  as  an  outline  of  the  principles 
of  architectural   design.     There  have  to  be  con- 


PRINCIPLES   OF   DESIGN  277 

sidered,  as  we  have  seen,  Utility,  Structure,  ^Esthetic 
Quality,  Significance.  A  single  creative  act,  calling 
into  being  at  a  stroke  a  scheme  in  which  all 
requirements  are  harmoniously  combined,  is  the 
ideal  architectural  achievement,  and  some  theorists 
assume  that  the  different  elements  of  a  design  take 
shape  together  in  the  artist's  mind,  so  that  there  is 
no  priority  or  sequence.  As  an  actual  fact  how- 
ever, there  must  be  a  definite  starting-point  in  the 
formula  of  requirements,  and  from  this  the  design 
of  the  whole  is  built  up  by  a  process  which,  though 
in  certain  cases  it  may  be  rapid  enough,  is  yet 
always  susceptible  of  analysis.  It  usually  happens 
that  the  creation  of  the  scheme,  even  in  its  most 
general  shape,  is  neither  spontaneous  nor  rapid,  but 
the  result  rather  of  prolonged  labour  and  contrivance 
involving  the  constant  adjustment  of  conflicting 
claims.  Through  all  the  working  and  re-working 
of  these  problems  there  is  a  single  guiding  principle 
to  be  held  in  view,  Give  use  and  structure  the 
priority  but  let  them  in  return  serve  the  cause  of 
art :  On  the  foundation  of  utility  mould  the  design 
to  beauty  and  significance.  This  principle  will 
work  out  in  practice  somewhat  as  follows. 

The  artist's  comprehension  of  his  program, 
which  he  should  so  assimilate  as  to  make  it  part 
of  himself,  results  in  his  own  mind  in  a  general 
scheme  of  the  relative  size  and  distribution  of 
the  requisite  spaces,  compendiously  described  as 
the  Plan.  These  spaces,  at  any  rate  in  a  public 
building,  serve  not  merely  a  useful  but  an  ideal 
purpose,  and  considerations  of  display  as  well 
as  those    of  convenience  help    to    determine  the 


278  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

manner  in  which  they  are  to  be  approached, 
lighted,  and  enclosed.  This  disposition  of 
interior  spaces  necessarily  conditions  that  sub- 
division of  the  external  mass  on  which  composi- 
tion depends.  The  interests  of  utility  and  beauty 
are  brought  here  into  a  relation  that  the  designer 
must  handle  with  all  his  artistic  tact.  In  the 
simple  instance  of  the  Christian  church  the  need 
of  separate  housing  for  the  altar  necessitates  the 
apse  or  chancel ;  that  of  space  for  ecclesiastical 
functions  the  transept ;  to  secure  more  room  for 
the  congregation,  while  avoiding  difficulties  in 
roofing,  side-aisles  are  added  to  the  nave.  Utility, 
and,  in  the  altar-house,  display,  determine  the 
distribution  of  the  spaces,  and  the  same  considera- 
tions prescribe  the  general  scheme  of  any  public 
building,  secular  or  sacred,  that  has  to  serve  ideal 
as  well  as  utilitarian  ends.  In  all  cases  the 
internal  arrangements  are  expressed  on  the  ex- 
terior by  varied  masses  that  break  up  the  main 
structure.  Externally  there  are  produced  among 
these  some  complex  relations  of  size  and  position 
which  the  artist  has  to  harmonize,  and  with  which 
he  will  deal  as  artist  rather  than  as  mathematician. 
These  subdivisions  of  the  original  mass  are  the 
elements  out  of  which  is  created  architectural 
beauty.  They  are  a  growth  from  within  outwards, 
but  at  the  same  time  dimensions,  forms,  propor- 
tions, relative  positions,  are  not  fixed  in  pedantic 
formulae  but  are  subject  to  modification,  and  should 
be  moulded  in  freedom  to  a  beauty  and  an  expres- 
siveness which  only  art  can  win  for  them. 

The   same    principle    applies     to    the   smaller 


PRINCIPLES   OF   DESIGN  279 

features  of  a  building  as  distinct  from  its  main 
divisions.  Such  features  are  mouldings,  base- 
courses,  cornices,  door-  and  window-framings,  and 
the  like,  and  these  must  be  carefully  distinguished 
from  architectural  ornament.  They  are  a  more 
integral  part  of  the  fabric  and  are  indeed  a  part 
that  is  essential  to  architectural  effect.  A  building 
can  reach  the  highest  standard  of  architectural 
sublimity,  beauty  and  expressiveness  without  any 
ornament  at  all,  but  it  is  not  equally  independent 
of  the  features  just  named.  They  are  necessary 
complements  of  the  original  process  of  breaking 
up  the  unity  of  the  structure.  Merely  to  sub- 
divide a  mass,  and  group  its  parts  and  its 
openings  in  pleasing  relations,  is  not  enough,  if 
the  parts  are  mere  plain  parallelopipeds  and  the 
openings  are  bare  unframed  apertures  in  a  wall. 
A  certain  apparatus  of  the  minor  features  in 
question  is  requisite  for  the  purpose  of  lending 
accent  and  significance  to  the  divisions,  and  doing 
all  the  artistic  service  to  the  structure  that  can  be 
rendered  by  frame  or  border  or  plinth  or  cresting. 

If  the  main  divisions  of  the  building  follow  as 
we  have  just  seen  from  considerations  of  use  and 
display,  the  smaller  features  are  to  a  large  extent 
dependent  on  Structure,  and  structure  at  once 
introduces  the  question  of  Material,  while  the 
architectural  treatment  of  structure  and  material 
brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  phenomenon  of 
specific  Style. 

Historical  styles  are  due  to  the  fact  that  there 
are  established  methods,  some  natural  others  tradi- 
tional, of  putting  together  the  various   materials 


28o  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

used  in  building,  and  the  resultant  forms  have  been 
used  over  and  over  again  in  successive  epochs  by  a 
sort  of  recognized  convention.  When  old  materials 
and  processes  are  dealt  with,  treatment  is  almost 
necessarily  conditioned  by  these  established  con- 
ventions, but  the  introduction  of  a  new  material 
makes  a  difference,  for  this  may  suggest  its  own 
external  treatment  in  forms  for  which  there  is  no 
precedent.  Whether  the  conventional  forms  or 
new  ones  are  employed  matters  little,  so  long  as 
the  latter  are  as  technically  correct  and  as  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye  as  the  older  forms  ;  in  other  words, 
specific  differences  of  style  do  not  touch  the  prin- 
ciples of  architectural  design,  for  these  are  prior  to 
and  independent  of  the  styles. 

The  smaller  features,  that  are  for  the  moment 
under  notice,  derived  as  they  are  from  material 
and  structure  either  directly  or  through  a  histori- 
cal tradition  of  style,  are  to  be  treated  with  the 
same  combination  of  aesthetic  tact  and  common- 
sense  which  presides  over  the  composition  at 
large,  for  the  example  of  the  Doric  facade  en- 
courages the  artist  to  exercise  here  also,  within 
due  limits,  his  artistic  freedom.  A  similar  pre- 
scription may  be  applied,  with  some  modifications, 
to  Ornament. 

In  the  case  of  ornament,  indeed,  the  artist 
may  be  supposed  to  enjoy  entire  freedom,  but 
this  is  not  the  case.  Ornament  is  not  a  mere 
fanciful  adjunct  to  a  building  for  the  sake  of 
enhancing  its  aesthetic  charm.  It  is  not  only 
connected,  as  will  presently  be  noticed,  with  the 
character  of  the  monument,  but  is  in  relation  also 


PRINCIPLES   OF   DESIGN  281 

to  its  structure.  It  is  not  however  like  mould- 
ings and  similar  features,  a  necessary  outcome  of 
structure  or  material,  but  bears  to  the  building  the 
relation  of  a  separable  accident.  That  ornament 
can  be  dispensed  with,  is  proved  by  those  existing 
monuments  which  produce  the  full  effect  of  archi- 
tecture without  any  aid  of  the  kind.  The  Greek 
temple  at  Paestum  exhibits  now  no  ornament  or 
polychrome  decoration  ;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most 
perfectly  satisfying  structures  to  the  architectural 
sense  that  the  world  has  to  show.  The  church  of 
St.  Front  at  Perigueux  in  western  France  is  a 
conspicuous  medieval  example.  The  work  of  Sir 
Christopher  Wren,  again,  owes  practically  nothing 
to  ornament. 

Ornament,  on  the  other  hand,  though  it 
may  be  classed  with  colour  as  not  essential 
to  architectural  effect,  is  of  higher  value  than 
colour  as  an  artistic  adjunct.  It  is  a  feature 
of  especial  moment  as  an  aid  to  the  ex- 
pression of  a  building,  and  may  help  more  than 
any  part  of  it  to  make  its  character  and  human 
significance  intelligible.  By  association  and  allu- 
sion or  by  franker  statement  it  interprets  the 
monument,  and  fixes  its  place  in  the  national  or 
social  economy.  While  mindful  ever  of  its  tec- 
tonic relation  to  the  structure,  by  its  accent  or  its 
symbolism  it  will  touch  with  the  glamour  of 
poetry  both  the  material  and  the  human  facts 
which  underlie  the  external  show.  Ornament  of 
a  really  artistic  kind  is  to  a  monument  what 
a  necklet  of  fine  gold-work  is  to  a  beautiful 
woman.      Her  comeliness  is  perfect  without  it,  yet 


282  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

it  enhances  her  charm,  as  that  of  the  Parthenon 
was  heightened  by  the  girdling  frieze.  If  the 
jewel  on  her  bosom  be  the  keepsake  of  a  soldier 
lover,  she  is  touched  with  a  more  visionary  grace, 
as  was  the  Athenian  shrine  when  the  Guardian 
Goddess  stood  forth,  new  born,  above  its  eastern 
portal. 

In  all  parts  of  architectural  design,  accordingly, 
the  artist  will  deal  in  rational  freedom  with  the 
material  offered  to  him.  Utility  and  structure 
determine  this  material  as  mere  vXrjy  and  indicate 
without  absolutely  prescribing  the  form.  It  is 
the  function  of  the  architect  to  work  upon  this 
form  till  it  gain  the  beauty  and  significance  of  the 
perfect  artistic  product. 

In  what  follows  it  will  be  impossible  to  illustrate 
all  the  many  aspects  of  architectural  theory  and 
practice.  The  principles  of  planning  on  the  one 
side,  though  of  fundamental  importance,  must  be 
passed  over  as  their  discussion  would  involve  con- 
siderations which  do  not  wholly  belong  to  the 
artistic  aspect  of  the  art,^  while  architectural 
ornament,  on  the  other  side,  belongs  in  great  part 
to  the  domain  of  the  decorative  arts  with  which 
this  book  makes  no  attempt  to  deal.  In  the 
sections  which  follow,  the  theme  under  treatment 
will  necessarily  be  a  limited  one,  and  their  main 
purpose  is  to  exhibit  the  dependence  of  artistic 
features  on  material  and  construction.  A  study 
of  the  manner  in  which  in  the  past  ages  of  the 
art  the  designer  has  dealt  with  these  elements  will 

^  There  are  some  good  remarks  on  the  artistic  side  of  planning  in 
Mr.  Statham's  work  noticed  in  the  introductory  chapter,  §  i. 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF   STONE  283 

bring  us  into  near  contact  with  what  is  most 
essentially  architectural  in  the  practice  of  the  art. 
If  we  examine  the  relation  to  construction  of 
architectural  impressiveness  and  beauty,  we  shall 
see  to  what  extent  the  artistic  qualities  of  archi- 
tecture depend  on,  or  are  developed  out  of, 
construction  ;  how  far  they  may  be  legitimately 
independent  of  construction,  and  become  in  this 
way  matters  of  artistic  choice  rather  than  of  strict 
logical  deduction. 

§  134.  Characteristics  of  building  materials :  Stone,  and 
its  Natural  Symbolism. 

Construction,  it  hardly  needs  to  be  said,  depends 
greatly  on  material.  We  will  consider  therefore  in 
order  the  chief  materials  used  by  the  builder,  and 
inquire  to  what  architectural  effects  in  each 
case  they  most  naturally  lend  themselves.  These 
materials  are  stones  of  different  shapes,  irregular 
or  squared,  and  of  varying  sizes  ;  clay,  in  formless 
but  plastic  lumps,  or  moulded  into  rectangular 
bricks  ;  finally  wood  in  the  forms  of  the  pliant 
branch,  the  sapling  and  tree  trunk,  or  the  squared 
beam  and  sawn  plank. 

Stone  as  building  material  carries  with  it  a  kind 
of  natural  symbolism  of  which  the  architect  in 
different  ages  has  known  how  to  take  account.  In 
the  first  place,  when  used  in  large  masses  it 
supplies  the  designer  with  means  for  increasing 
the  apparent  grandeur  of  his  edifice.  A  building 
constructed  of  huge  blocks  of  stone  at  once  gains 
a  certain  air  of  majesty  which  stands  for  an 
increase  of  size,  and   small  structures  can  attain 


284  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

through  this  device  to  architectural  sublimity.  A 
standard  illustration  is  the  tomb  of  Theodoric  at 
Ravenna,  from  the  sixth  century  of  our  era,  which 
though  of  modest  dimensions  recalls  by  its 
massiveness  the  megalithic  structures  of  primeval 
days  :  the  cupola  crowning  it  is  hollowed  out  of  a 
single  vast  block  of  stone  more  than  thirty  feet  in 
diameter.  Monolithic  columns  are  far  grander 
than  those  composed  of  small  pieces,  and  the 
Egyptians  by  plastering  over  their  built-up 
columns,  and  the  Greeks  by  fitting  the  drums  of 
theirs  so  closely  that  the  joints  almost  disappeared, 
were  aiming  at  a  monolithic  effect.  On  the  con- 
trary, at  the  Madeleine  in  Paris  the  smallness  of 
the  stones  of  which  the  columns  are  constructed  is 
made  painfully  apparent  by  conspicuous  joints,  and 
the  effect  of  them  is  hopelessly  impoverished. 
The  artistic  function  of  big  materials  is  thus 
summed  up  by  James  Fergusson  : 

*  It  is  the  expression  of  giant  power  and  the 
apparent  eternity  of  duration  which  they  convey  ; 
and  in  whatever  form  that  may  be  presented  to 
the  human  mind,  it  always  produces  a  sentiment 
tending  towards  sublimity,  which  is  the  highest 
effect  at  which  architecture  or  any  other  art  can 
aim.'  ^ 

Again,  there  is  about  stone  a  natural  symbolism 
that  resides  in  its  earth-born  and  primeval 
character.  The  ancient  walls  called  Cyclopean 
or  Pelasgic,  of  which  the  ramparts  of  Tiryns  and 
Mycenae  are  the  most  conspicuous  examples,  are 
often    built    of    huge     polygonal     blocks,    hardly 

"^  History  of  Architecture i  i.  p.  20. 


RUSTICATION  285 

touched  by  the  tool  but  fitted  according  to  their 
accidents  of  shape.  Such  structures  are  imposing 
through  their  rock-like  aspect  and  seem  to  be  the 
children  of  mother-earth.  Very  different  is  the 
effect  of  squared-stonework.  This  has  a  natural 
symbolism  of  a  higher  kind.  It  is  the  production 
of  intelligence  and  gives  at  once  a  human  interest 
to  the  structure,  which  appeals  to  us  on  the 
grounds  drawn  out  in  §  104.  Further,  the  hori- 
zontal beds  and  vertical  joints  convey  at  once  the 
essential  relation  of  the  structure  to  the  ground, 
and  the  upward  tendency  of  its  elevation.  It  is 
earth-based,  but  rises  to  a  place  in  the  world  of 
men. 

There  is  a  simple  and  natural  treatment  of 
stonework,  by  which  it  is  made  to  combine  the 
two  effects  just  indicated,  and  to  remain  rocky  and 
elemental  but  at  the  same  time  an  ordered  product 
of  reason.  This  is  through  a  bossy  or  '  rustic ' 
treatment  much  favoured  by  the  great  stone 
builders  of  the  world,  more  especially  the  Phoeni- 
cians. Originally  no  doubt  merely  to  save  labour, 
the  stone  blocks  were  only  fully  squared-up  upon 
and  near  the  surfaces  of  contact,  the  middle  part 
of  the  outer  face  of  the  mass  being  left  rough  and 
projecting.  Such  treatment  appeared  so  apposite, 
that  it  has  been  used  deliberately  through  a  great 
part  of  architectural  history  as  an  element  of 
artistic  effect,  and  the  example  is  a  very  good  one 
of  an  exigency  of  construction  turned  to  aesthetic 
ends.  Not  only  does  this  Rustication  carry  with  it 
an  air  of  primeval  stability  and  strength  which 
makes  it  invaluable  for  use  in  the  basement  stories 


2H  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

of  monumental  buildings,  but  it  also  gives  variety 
of  texture  and  even  of  tone  to  an  elevation.  Bru- 
nelleschi  employed  this  motive  with  very  noble 
effect  in  the  Pitti  Palace  at  Florence,  as  Michelozzi 
had  already  done  in  his  earlier  Palazzo  Riccardi, 
shown  in  Plate  VI,  while  in  our  own  time  Bryce's 
imposing  Bank  of  Scotland,  on  its  terraced  sub- 
structures at  Edinburgh,  is  as  good  an  instance  as 
could  be  named  of  its  sagacious  employment. 

§  135.  Brick,  and  the  Constructive  Forms  evolved 
from  its  use. 

Passing  from  stone  to  clay  or  brick,  we  lose 
monumental  character  but  discover  new  elements 
of  architectural  effect  that  evolve  themselves 
naturally  out  of  the  use  of  the  material.  Clay  is 
formless  and  devoid  of  natural  suggestion,  but 
when  wrought  into  bricks  these  carry  with  them 
certain  consequences  of  their  parallelopiped  shape. 
Brick — generally  used  in  the  ancient  world  *  crude 
or  sun-dried,  not  burnt  in  the  kiln — is  not  so  firm 
a  material  as  stone  and  a  wall  of  it  needs  some 
strengthening.  This  it  receives  from  the  Buttress, 
a  familiar  feature  on  the  common  garden  wall. 
The  buttress  occurs  in  some  of  the  oldest  existing 
monuments  of  civilized  building,  the  mound-temples 
of  lower  Babylonia,  where  the  vast  solid  structures 
of  crude  brick  show  regular  projections  of  the  same 
material,  the  use  of  which  is  obviously  to  counter- 
act the  thrust  outwards  of  the  heaped-up  mass. 
Further,  the  buttress  may  have  given  the  first 
suggestion  of  the  form  of  the  Tower.  Towers 
flank  at  regular  intervals  the  brick  walls  of  Baby- 


'      >        '    1  1        >      ,  J    5     )  ,: 


Plate  VI.       To  face  p.  286. 
Palazzo  Riccardi,  Florence. 


FORMS   SUGGESTED  BY   BRICK  287 

Ionian  and  Assyrian  palaces  and  the  ramparts  of 
towns,  rising  above  the  walls  and  affording  vantage- 
points  for  its  defenders.  In  such  cases  it  is 
important  to  secure  an  outlook  while  the  person  is 
sheltered.  This  advantage  was  obtained  by  the 
device  of  the  battlement,  which  arises  in  ancient 
Mesopotamia  in  the  simplest  way  from  the  process 
of  building  in  brick  with  covered  joints.  This  is 
again,  like  the  rustication  of  stonework,  an  example 
of  the  way  in  which  construction  gives  rise  to 
forms  which  are  first  fastened  upon  as  useful,  and 
then    delighted  in   and    emphasised    for  aesthetic 


Fig.  5. — Battlements  crowning  ai  Assyrian  wall  of  bricks. 

reasons.  Fig.  5  represents  the  finish  of  an 
Assyrian  wall  of  bricks.  It  will  be  seen  at  once 
that  the  builder,  when  he  came  to  the  summit, 
merely  omitted  certain  bricks  in  his  regular 
courses,  and  so  secured  an  alternation  of  form  and 
void  producing  a  useful  battlement  for  defence, 
and  a  pleasing  diversity  of  sky-line. 

We  see  accordingly,  from  the  two  examples  of 
stone  and  brick  used  simply  in  wall  building,  how 
artistic  effect  may  depend  in  the  directest  way  on 
construction.       Polygonal    and    squared    masonry 


288  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

carry  with  them  certain  natural  suggestions ;  the 
economical  evasion  of  labour  in  leaving  rough  the 
face  of  a  building-stone  is  turned  to  the  service  of 
architectural  expression  ;  the  projecting  buttress, 
bastion  or  tower — used  in  stone  structures  as  well  as 
brick — has  the  important  merit  of  enriching  an 
elevation  with  light-and-shade,  and  with  strongly 
marked  vertical  lines  which  secure  the  divisions  so 
necessary  in  composition  ;  the  battlement  breaks 
the  edge  of  the  summit  and  gives  artistic  finish  to 
the  whole  structure.  )  ^ 

§  136.  The  Arch,  as  derived  from  Construction  in 
small  materials :  its  aesthetic  value. 

Another  important  architectural  form  is  arrived 
at  in  the  process  of  construction  with  small 
materials  such  as  bricks  or  stones,  and  this  is  the 
arch. 

It  is  easy  to  construct  walls  and  solid  mounds 
of  clay  or  bricks  or  stones,  and  so  to  enclose  a 
space  or  reach  an  elevation,  but  it  is  by  no  means 
so  easy  to  cover-in  the  enclosures  thus  formed,  or 
to  contrive  chambers  in  the  midst  of  the  solid 
masses.  Where  no  additional  material  is  avail- 
able, this  can  only  be  accomplished  by  the  use  of 
some  form  of  the  arch  or  vault,  a  constructive  . 
device  known  from  the  remotest  antiquity,  and 
used  as  a  rule  among  all  peoples  whose  natural 
building  material  is  clay  or  brick,  but  one  which 
does  not  play  an  important  part  in  architecture 
proper  till  a  comparatively  late  period.  The  arch, 
and  the  vault  which  may  be  looked  on  as  generated 
from  the  arch,  possess   the  marked    constructive 


<       t« 
5 


iESTHETIC  VALUE   OF  THE  ARCH         289 

property  of  exercising  a  lateral  thrust,  the  nature 
and  conditions  of  which  are  too  well  known  to 
need  demonstration  in  this  place,  while  in  their 
aesthetic  aspect  they  present  always  curved  forms, 
in  the  shape  of  a  half-round  or  portion  of  an 
ellipse,  or  of  two  curves  or  combination  of  curves 
meeting  above  in  a  point.  Such  a  form  occurring 
in  contrast  to  the  straight  lines  and  right  angles 
naturally  predominant  in  buildings  reared  of 
parallelopiped  bricks  or  cut  stones,  is  of  itself 
artistically  pleasing.  A  series  of  such  forms,  as  in 
a  bridge  or  an  aqueduct,  such  as  the  Roman 
example  on  Plate  VII,  has  in  itself  considerable 
beauty  as  well  as  majesty  ;  while  if  we  suppose  a 
wall  broken  with  arched  openings  of  different 
sizes  arranged  according  to  some  scheme  of 
artistic  composition,  or  a  cupola  or  series  of 
cupolas  rising  above  a  rectangular  substructure,  or 
again,  from  the  interior,  a  hollow  dome  covering 
and  embracing  an  internal  space,  we  have  at  once 
the  essential  elements  of  architectural  effect.  As 
a  fact  however  (and  this  in  part  for  a  reason  to  be 
presently  considered)  the  step  in  this  instance  from 
utility  to  art,  that  is  to  say,  the  advance  from  the 
mere  employment  of  such  a  constructive  form  for 
purposes  of  utility,  to  the  deliberate  handling  of  it 
so  as  to  produce  a  calculated  artistic  impression, 
was  not  made  in  the  most  ancient  times.  In 
ancient  Egypt,  in  Babylonia  and  Assyria,  the 
vault  of  clay  or  of  crude  sun-dried  brick  was  used 
to  cover  small  apartments  or  galleries,  or  as  a 
dome  formed  the  roof  of  store-rooms,  granaries,  or 
village  cabins,  like  those  shown  in  the  Assyrian 

T 


290 


ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 


relief  given  in  Fig.  6.  In  Assyria  and  in  Etruscan 
Italy,  the  well-known  strength  of  a  vaulted  cover- 
ing, when  properly  buttressed  up  at  the  flanks,  was 
taken  advantage  of  in  the  construction  of  under- 
ground drains  and  conduits.  In  Italy  the  arch 
was  early  employed  for  bridges  and  aqueducts. 
In  Assyria,  Asia  Minor  and  Etruria  the  apertures 


Fig.  6. — Group  of  domed  houses  from  an  Assyrian  relief. 


in  walls,  such  as  the  gates  of  a  city  or  a  palace, 
were  terminated  above  by  the  arch.  These  peoples 
were  accordingly  familiar  with  the  aspect  of  the 
arch  and  vault,  (i)  as  an  opening  in  an  elevation, 
(2)  as  an  internal  covering,  (3)  as  an  external 
cupola,  but  we  do  not  find  anything  like  the 
evolution  of  an  arched  style  till  near  the  time  of 
the  Roman  Empire. 


THE   ARCH   AT  ROME  291 

§  137.  Evolution  of  an  Arched  Style :    The  Arch 
at  Borne. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  wide  gulf  between  the  primi- 
tive structures  just  noticed,  and  the  magnificent 
domes  and  vaults  that  are  the  glories  of  Roman 
Imperial  architecture.  This  gulf  may  have  been 
gradually  bridged  over  by  a  series  of  vaulted 
structures  that  have  now  perished.  Alexander 
the  Great  and  his  successors  founded  numerous 
Greek  cities  in  the  nearer  East,  the  original  home 
of  the  tradition  of  vault  building,  and  in  these  it  is 
likely  that  experiments  were  made  which  bore 
result  in  the  famous  existing  structures  at  Rome. 
The  Pantheon,  one  of  the  grandest  interiors  ever 
produced  by  an  architect,  relies  for  its  main  effect 
upon  the  simple  form  of  the  hemispherical  dome 
known  to  the  Egyptians  and  Assyrians,  enlarged 
to  the  scale  of  sublimity,  and  so  translated  from 
the  sphere  of  utility  to  that  of  art.  The  Romans, 
however,  never  really  worked  out  an  arched  style, 
for  they  could  not  trust  the  arch  by  itself  to  pro- 
duce the  necessary  artistic  *  membering '  of  a 
facade,  nor  did  they  show  any  appreciation  of  the 
external  effect  of  the  cupola.  It  was  reserved  for 
the  Byzantine  designers,  and  following  them,  the 
architects  of  the  Renaissance,  to  lift  the  dome 
boldly  above  the  substructure,  and,  as  in  St.  Paul 
of  London,  make  it  the  dominating  feature  of  a 
great  architectural  composition  ;  while  it  was  not 
until  the  Renaissance  that  the  Wall,  constructed 
like  the  Palazzo  Pitti  or  Riccardi  at  Florence 
(Plate  VI),  of  massive   rusticated    masonry,   and 


292  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

broken  only  by  a  composition  of  arched  openings, 
was  allowed  to  stand  forth  in  its  noble  simplicity 
as  not  building  only  but  architecture. 

Nor  again  on  the  constructive  side  did  the 
Romans  follow  out  the  principle  of  the  arch.  The 
lateral  thrust,  already  spoken  of,  would  be  exer- 
cised most  freely  were  the  arch  composed  of 
wedge-shaped  stones  fitted  in  together,  but  with- 
out mortar  or  clamps  or  other  binding  material. 
In  such  a  case,  if  left  unbuttressed  at  the  side,  the 
arch  would  at  once  give  way  both  at  the  summit 
and  '  shoulders.'  It  is  obvious  however  that  in 
proportion  as  the  materials  of  the  arch  are  made 
to  adhere  closely  together,  the  less  lateral  support 
will  it  require,  while  a  vault  quite  homogeneous  in 
structure  would  require  none.  The  Romans,  con- 
structing their  vaults  mainly  of  more  or  less 
homogeneous  concrete,  got  rid  to  a  large  extent 
of  the  difficulty  of  the  lateral  thrust,  but  this  again 
confronted  the  medieval  builders  when  they  began 
in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  to  roof  their 
churches  with  stone  vaults. 

§  138.  The  Arch  in  the  hands  of  Medieval  Builders : 
The  Gothic  Style. 

At  this  epoch  there  appeared  in  France  a  school 
of  builders  gifted  with  the  finest  scientific  insight 
into  constructive  problems,  and  from  their  hands 
proceeded  the  early  Gothic  cathedral,  which  in  its 
essentials,  though  not  in  its  details,  is  to  be 
regarded  as  a  logical  deduction  from  the  con- 
structive principles  of  the  arch,  modified  in  every 
portion  by  that  effort  after  beauty  and  significance 


THE  ARCH    IN   MEDIEVAL   FRANCE       293 

in  forms  which  turns  the  construction  of  utility 
into  one  of  art. 

In  this  building  almost  all  the  features  are  con- 
ditioned in  the  first  place  by  construction,  but 
modified  and  added  to  on  artistic  grounds.  The 
generating  centre  of  the  whole  is  the  stone  vault, 
which  is  pointed  in  section,  and  from  this  all  the 
rest  is  evolved.  The  vault  is  divided  into  a 
succession  of  compartments  each  of  which  is 
formed  by  the  intersection  of  two  pointed  barrel 
vaults.  The  lines  of  intersection  crossing  the 
compartment  diagonally  from  corner  to  corner  are 
marked  by  projecting  ribs,  the  use  of  which  was 
introduced  in  certain  earlier  barrel  vaults  of  stone 
in  the  south  of  France,  belonging  to  the  Roman- 
esque period.  The  function  of  these  ribs  is  to 
collect  the  thrusts  or  pressures  exercised  by  the 
stones  composing  the  vault,  and  carry  them  away 
to  the  corners,  where  they  are  accordingly  con- 
centrated. These  pressures  are  of  two  kinds, — 
directly  downward  owing  to  the  weight  of  the 
materials,  and  lateral  owing  to  the  characteristics 
of  the  arch.  The  direct  weight  is  carried  down  to 
the  ground  by  long  slender  pillars  or  shafts  of 
stone,  between  which  (as  there  is  no  need  for  any 
solid  stonework  which  would  have  nothing  to 
support)  there  is  interposed  a  light  screen  of  glass 
framed  in  upright  and  transverse  bars  of  stone- 
work. In  theory,  and  often  as  a  fact,  each  one  of 
the  undergirding  ribs  of  the  vault  is  waited  on  by 
a  distinct  vertical  shaft  which  transmits  its  weight 
to  the  ground.  These  shafts  are  bound  together 
in  groups  and  so  descend  as  a  single  though  com- 


294  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

plex  pier  to  the  base  of  the  whole.  The  lateral 
pressures,  on  the  other  hand,  are  collected  as  just 
stated  into  the  corners,  and  are  there  met  and 
counteracted  exactly  at  the  right  spot,  in  pres- 
sures exerted  in  a  counter  direction  by  arches 
leaning  up  against  the  outside  of  the  buildings — 
the  so-called  flying  buttresses.  To  give  these 
flying  buttresses  in  their  turn  a  proper  resistance, 
they  spring  from  solid  pillars  erected  at  the 
requisite  distance  from  the  building,  while  these 
pillars  themselves  are  rendered  more  stable  by 
being  weighted  above  by  masses  of  masonry. 
This  contrivance  secures  due  lateral  support  to 
north  and  south  all  along  the  nave  :  at  the  choir 
end,  the  series  of  vaults  terminates  in  a  rounded 
apse  encircled  with  its  flying  buttresses,  which 
itself  serves  as  an  abutment  to  prevent  any  yield- 
ing towards  the  east ;  while  at  the  west  or  entrance 
end  of  the  church  two  massive  towers,  useful  also 
for  carrying  bells,  present  a  corresponding  re- 
sistance at  the  other  extremity  of  the  series. 

These  are  the  essentials  of  the  Gothic  structure. 
Other  prominent  features  such  as  the  transepts, 
the  side  aisles,  the  radiating  chapels,  have  no 
special  constructive  significance,  and  for  the 
present  purpose  we  may  consider  the  building 
as  a  series  of  arched  canopies  of  stone  resting  on 
slender  pillars  at  each  corner^  the  outward  thrusts 
being  abutted  at  the  western  end  by  the  solid  mass 
of  the  towers^  and  everywhere  else  met  and  counter- 
acted by  the  opposing  pressure  of  arches^  thrown 
inwards  frofn  rigid  pillars  weighted  by  masonry^ 
that  at  a  suitable  distance  surround  the  edifice. 


THE  GOTHIC   EDIFICE  295 

§  139.  Construction  and  Beauty  in  the  Gothic  Edifice. 

We  thus  obtain  the  idea  of  a  somewhat  elaborate 
and  complex  building  the  form  of  which  is  all 
logically  determined  by  constructive  considerations. 
So  far  the  work  answers  exactly  to  the  description 
of  a  piece  of  modern  engineering,  and  we  may  ask 
Where  does  the  art  make  its  appearance  ?  Why 
is  the  Gothic  cathedral  always  so  beautiful,  the 
engineering  structure  so  often  hideous?  The 
answer  is  that  the  Gothic  builders,  advancing  from 
utility  to  art,  partly  followed  the  hints  of  their 
construction  in  the  direction  of  beauty,  and  partly 
made  additions  to  the  same  end  independent  of 
utility  altogether.  In  the  first  place  the  Gothic 
architect  possessed  as  his  determining  unit  of 
construction  the  pointed  arch,  a  form  in  itself 
extremely  beautiful,  and  flexible  in  use.  He  did 
not  invent  it  nor  did  he  adopt  it  on  aesthetic 
grounds,  for  it  was  employed,  not  only  by  the 
Saracens  from  the  ninth  century  onwards,  but 
also  in  France  before  the  Gothic  period  in  the 
Romanesque  barrel  vaults  already  spoken  of,  where 
it  was  probably  used  for  constructive  reasons 
because  it  exercises  less  lateral  pressure  than  a 
round  arch  of  equal  span.  So  soon  however  as 
he  did  adopt  it,  he  made  the  most  of  its  aesthetic 
capabilities  in  a  manner  not  in  fashion  among 
modern  engineers. 

The  pointed  arch  can  be  raised  to  any  desired 
elevation,  and  in  early  Gothic  is  always  loftier 
than  a  round  arch  of  equal  span ;  it  carries 
with   it   accordingly   a  suggestion   of  height  and 


296  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

slenderness,  and  as  these  qualities  suited  the 
temper  of  religious  enthusiasm  that  belonged  to 
the  age,  they  soon  became  the  predominant  note 
of  the  whole  structure,  so  that  at  Beauvais  the 
light  canopies  of  stone  on  their  delicate  vertical 
shafts  floated  in  the  air  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
above  the  pavement.  The  bars  or  muUions  of 
stone,  framing  the  panels  of  glass  which  filled  the 
lateral  spaces  between  the  supports,  were  disposed 
in  those  exquisite  combinations  of  curves  which 
give  its  fame  to  Gothic  window- tracery.  The 
masses  of  stonework  weighting  the  piers,  from 
which  spring  the  flying  buttresses,  were  moulded 
into  the  elegant  forms  of  pinnacles — features  that 
play  such  a  part  in  the  artistic  effect  of  the  whole 
building  that  it  is  often  forgotten  that  they  have 
a  constructive  origin  and  use.  Throughout  the 
building  in  the  same  manner  constructive  forms 
became  modified  for  artistic  reasons,  and  as  the 
modification  was  all  in  the  direction  of  breaking 
up  solid  masses  and  multiplying  slender  and 
elegant  features,  the  whole  building  came  to  wear 
that  look  of  indescribable  grace  and  lightness 
which  is  the  glory  of  the  Gothic  style. 

In  Plate  VIII,  from  the  well-known  work  of 
Gailhabaud,^  is  shown  the  construction  of  a  bay 
of  a  Gothic  nave.  On  the  right-hand  side  is  the 
external  view  showing  the  piers,  pinnacles  and 
flying  buttresses,  while  on  the  left  there  is  a  section 
through  the  axial  line  of  the  building  that  exhibits 
the  method  of  supporting  the  vault  and  the  con- 

^ V Architecture,  etc.,  du    V^  au  XVI I"^*"  Steele,  Paris,   1858, 
vol.  I. 


5  '       t       » 


>  >   > 


Plate  VIII.       To  face  p.  296. 
Analysis  of  Gothic  Construction,   Rheims  Cathedral.     From  Gailhabaud. 


FREE   EXPRESSION    IN   GOTHIC  297 

struction  and  height  of  the  external  roof  of  wood. 
Most  of  the  points  indicated  in  the  text  will  be 
found  illustrated  in  this  drawing. 

§  140.  Free  expression  and  Beauty  in  Gothic, 
independent  of  Construction. 

It  would  be  however  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
all  the  characteristic  beauties  of  Gothic  are  due 
simply  to  the  artistic  manipulation  of  forms  pro- 
duced for  utility.  In  the  interesting  essay  on 
Gothic  Architecture  by  Mr.  C.  H.  Moore  of  Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts,^  the  writer  reviews  the 
features  of  the  Gothic  edifice  one  by  one,  carefully 
pointing  out  in  the  manner  of  M.  Viollet-le-Duc 
the  constructive  origin  of  each,  until  he  comes  to 
the  spire,  of  which  he  justly  says  :  *  Of  external 
features  none  is  more  striking,  and  after  the  flying 
buttress,  none  shows  more  of  the  Gothic  spirit, 
than  the  stone  spire  with  which,  in  the  design,  if 
not  in  the  executed  work,  the  tower  was  crowned/ 
Mr.  Moore  makes  no  attempt  however  to  explain 
the  use  of  the  spire  in  construction,  and  as  a  fact 
no  valid  constructive  ground  can  be  assigned  to  it 
in  its  developed  form.  Regarded  as  a  not  un- 
natural evolution  out  of  the  low  pyramidal  cap 
that  formed  a  common  termination  to  the  earlier 
Romanesque  towers,  it  is  connected  with  structure, 
but  the  heaven-piercing  spire  is  quite  a  different 
thing  from  the  squat  pyramid,  and  we  must 
accordingly  pronounce  that  this — the  most  beauti- 
ful and  significant  feature  of  the  whole  building — 
is  a  free  creation  of  art.  Mr.  Moore  continues  : 
^  London  and  New  York,  1890.     (Second  Edition,  1899.) 


298  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

*  It  is  a  feature,  too,  which  more  emphatically 
perhaps  than  any  other,  marks  the  communal  spirit 
and  influence.  The  spire  formed  the  governing 
feature  in  any  general  view  of  the  medieval  town, 
and  was  a  sign  of  municipal  power  and  prosperity. 
It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  the  spire  should  call 
forth  the  special  enthusiasm  and  effort  of  the  lay 
builders/  ^ 

This  is  true — and  the  remark  is  an  additional 
proof  how  much  more  there  is  in  architecture 
than  mere  beauty  of  line  and  mass — but  the 
important  and  significant  point  of  the  matter  is, 
that  the  artistic  spirit,  which  in  the  rest  of  the 
building  is  content  to  wait  on  construction  and 
follow  out  the  hints  thus  given  in  the  direction  of 
harmony  and  beauty,  here  shows  itself  indepen- 
dently creative,  and  vindicates  for  itself  that 
freedom  which  is  denied  to  it  by  those  who  harp 
on  the  assertion — sound  enough  so  far  as  it  goes 
— that  architecture  is  just  'construction  beautified.' 
The  same  thing  may  be  said  about  the  high- 
pitched  external  roof  of  the  Gothic  cathedral.  At 
Rheims  cathedral,  according  to  the  section  given 
on  Plate  VIII,  the  ridge  of  the  external  roof  rises 
above  the  crown  of  the  internal  vault  of  stone  to 
a  height  fully  half  as  great  as  the  elevation  of 
the  latter  from  the  floor.  A  shelving  roof  of 
timber  and  lead  is  of  course  needful  for  the 
protection  of  the  upper  surface  of  the  stone  vaults 
(just  as  there  must  be  a  cover  of  some  kind  to  the 
tower),  but  the  great  height  to  which,  especially  in 
France,  the  ridge  is  finally  raised  is  unnecessary, 
^  Gothic  Architecture y  p.  113. 


SUMMARY  299 

and  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  artistic  form  corre- 
sponding to  the  elance  spire,  and  bearing  emphatic 
testimony  to  the  predominant  cesthetic  character 
of  the  whole  vast  edifice. 

§  141.  Summary  of  the  foregoing. 

Looking  back  now  on  the  ground  traversed,  we 
find  that  construction  in  clay,  brick  or  small 
materials  gives  us  the  wall  broken  with  projecting 
buttresses  and  crowned  with  battlements.  It 
generates  for  us  the  arch,  the  curved  forms  of 
which,  in  bridge  or  aqueduct  or  gateway,  are 
always  charming,  and  which,  surmounting  door  or 
window  opening,  gives  architectural  character  to  a 
facade.  It  produces  the  dome,  a  telling  feature 
of  external  or  internal  effect,  with  the  other  forms 
of  the  vault,  and  finally,  by  a  logical  following  out 
of  the  mechanical  peculiarities  of  the  arch,  it 
culminates  in  the  Gothic  cathedral,  the  most 
perfect  combination  of  logical  construction  with 
art  that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

The  above  examples  show  that  the  harmonious 
subdivision  and  play  of  part  against  part,  which 
make  the  life  of  architecture,  may  be  readily 
evolved  (if  the  requisite  artistic  feeling  be  forth- 
coming) from  the  constructive  forms  that  have 
their  basis  in  utility.  Art  has  in  these  cases  to 
develop  embryo,  to  emphasise  uncertain  forms  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  it  must  be  prepared  on  fitting 
occasions  to  rise  beyond  construction  and  become 
freely  creative.  In  the  use  of  these  derived  or 
created  forms  it  is  the  function  of  art  to  attend 
narrowly  to  the  placing  of  each  feature  in  relation 


300  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

to  the  whole,  and  above  all  to  combine  these 
features  into  that  harmony  through  which  the 
whole  becomes  the  expression  of  a  single  thought. 

§  142.  Monolithic  Stone  Construction  in  relation  to 
architectural  Beauty. 

Let  us  turn  now  to  consider  in  the  same 
manner  the  natural  history  of  construction  in  other 
building  materials  and  to  observe  in  other  con- 
nections the  same  evolution  of  Architecture  out  of 
Building. 

Stone  offers  itself  as  building  material,  not  only 
in  the  form  of  small  blocks,  but  of  huge  slabs  and 
beams  which  can  be  so  placed  as  to  enclose  and 
cover  a  space  without  the  use  of  the  arch.  The 
Dolmens  already  referred  to  (§  i8)  are  the  most 
primitive  types  of  such  construction,  and  we 
possess  in  the  very  ancient  Egyptian  building 
known  as  the  Temple  of  the  Sphinx — perhaps  the 
oldest  existing  monument  of  civilized  architecture 
— what  appears  to  be  a  building  of  the  same  type, 
but  regularly  and  carefully  constructed.  The 
elements  of  this  building  (fully  described  and 
illustrated  in  Perrot's  Egypte^)  are  upright  pillars 
of  granite  carefully  squared  and  smoothed,  placed 
at  regular  distances  and  covered  above  by  massive 
slabs  of  the  same  material  (Fig.  y).  The  interior 
thus  formed  may  have  been  used  as  a  funeral 
chapel  for  one  of  the  builders  of  the  Pyramids  of 
Ghizeh,  and  may  well  have  been  developed  out  of 
the  Dolmen.  One  peculiarity  of  the  structure  is 
that,   though   much   skill    and   labour  have   been 

1  Paris,  1882,  ch.  iv. 


STONE   CONSTRUCTION 


301 


spent  in  squaring,  smoothing  and  fitting  the 
stones,  there  are  no  mouldings  and  no  decorative 
features  of  any  kind,  nor  any  device  for  breaking 
up  the  masses,  and  so  giving  to  the  eye  the 
satisfaction  of  measuring  proportions.  The  fact 
that   all  these   familiar  elements   in   architectural 


Fig.  7.— So-called  Temple  of  the  Sphinx. 


effect  are  here  conspicuously  absent  is  commented 
on  by  historians  of  architecture,  who  fail  however 
sometimes  to  grasp  its  significance.  The  truth  is 
that  the  Dolmen  and  the  Temple  of  the  Sphinx 
are  examples  of  massive  stone  construction  of  the 
purest    type,   construction,   as    we   might   say,   in 


302  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

monoliths,  and  such  construction  offers  no  sugges- 
tion or  embyro  form  which  might  be  worked  out 
into  these  dividing  and  connecting  features  which 
are  so  necessary  for  architectural  composition. 
Contrast  the  Doric  fagade  (Plate  III,  p.  60)  with 
the  constructive  scheme  of  the  Temple  of  the 
Sphinx.  The  former  gives  the  fluted  column- 
shaft  tapering  up  towards  the  projecting  capital, 
the  plain  architrave  contrasting  with  the  richly- 
membered  frieze  broken  into  triglyphs  and 
metopes;  further  the  overhanging  cornice  profiled 
and  enriched  with  its  mutules  and  drops,  and 
lastly  the  projecting  string-courses  plain  or 
moulded,  which  separate  part  from  part  in  the 
different  stages  of  the  height,  and  at  the  same 
time,  by  carrying  the  eye  along  the  whole  fagade, 
give  an  element  of  unity  to  the  composition.  Yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  Doric  temple  has  also,  like 
the  Egyptian  monument,  an  air  of  monolithic 
construction.  The  columns  are  not  in  fact,  but  in 
appearance,  monoliths,  the  architrave  is  that  of 
Egypt  repeated.  The  whole  is  exceedingly 
massive,  even  megalithic  in  style.  Whence  come 
the  diversifying  elements  in  the  Greek  fagade  upon 
which  so  much  of  its  artistic  effect  depends  ? 

§  143.  Transference  of  Timber  forms  to  Stone,  the  secret 
of  ancient  Architecture. 

The  real  secret  of  ancient  architecture  is  only 
understood  when  we  regard  the  forms  so  familiar 
in  classical  stonework  as  not  stone  forms  at  all, 
but  as  forms  transferred  to  stone  from  previous 
construction    in    quite   a  different  material.     We 


TRANSFERENCE   OF  TIMBER  FORMS      303 

come  in  contact  here  with  one  of  the  fundamental 
conventions  of  architecture — the  transference  to  one 
material  of  forms  which  really  belong  to  another^ 
and  their  adaptation  in  their  new  connection  to 
purely  artistic  purposes.  This  is  undoubtedly  a 
contravention  of  the  principle  that  architecture  is 
*  construction  beautified,'  for  it  is  a  fact  that  most 
of  the  features  and  details  which  make  the  life  of 
monumental  buildings  are  not  the  logical  outcome 
of  the  construction  employed,  but  are  conventional 
forms  that  have  the  highest  artistic,  but  no  con- 
structive significance.  Whether  a  massive  stone 
style  could  ever  have  developed  these  features  is 
more  than  doubtful.  The  development  of  such  a 
style,  which  seemed  to  have  begun  in  Egypt  when 
the  Dolmen  became  the  Temple  of  the  Sphinx, 
came  to  a  sudden  standstill,  and  a  change  was 
made,  both  in  Egypt  and  afterwards  in  Greece,  to 
a  style  that  used  stone  indeed  as  its  material,  but 
borrowed  all  its  features  from  construction  in 
wood. 

§  144.  An  illustration  from  Ancient  Egypt. 

The  following  is  one  illustration  of  this  trans- 
ference. No  feature  in  a  building  is  of  more 
importance  than  the  projecting  cornice  which 
terminates  the  elevation  with  marked  lines  of 
light-and-shade.  Now  the  Egyptians  and  the  in- 
habitants of  Asia  Minor  and  Syria  possessed 
excellent  building-stone,  and  knew  well  from  time 
immemorial  how  to  hew  and  to  carve  it — yet  they 
never  developed  a  cornice  out  of  their  stonework, 
and  might  have  gone  on  for  ever  rearing  smooth 


304 


ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 


or  buttressed  walls  without  any  such  crown- 
ing feature,  had  it  not  been  for  the  hints  they 
derived  from  far  humbler  structures.  If  the  reader 
will  turn  back  to  page  57  he  will  see  a  sketch  of 
the  earliest  Egyptian  shrine  put  together  of  poles 
and  wattlework.  The  shed  or  arbour  thus  formed 
is  terminated  above  by  what  looks  like  a  con- 
tinuous line  or  tuft  of  twigs  or  brushwood,  such  as 
in  structures   of   wood,   or  of  mud   with    timber 


Fig.  8.— Primitive  Hut,  from  Asia  Minor. 


framings  like  the  elementary  structure  in  Fig.  8, 
could  be  made  to  serve  as  a  breastwork  round  the 
flat  roof  of  stamped  earth.  Now  almost  all  the 
monumental  buildings  of  Egypt  are  crowned  above 
with  a  stone  cornice  which  evidently  imitates  this 
primitive  feature  of  the  slight  wooden  huts  of  the 
people.  The  form  is  always  the  following  (Fig. 
9)  :  The  half-round  at  the  base  of  the  cornice 
represents  the  upper  member  of  a  timber  framing, 


THE  EGYPTIAN   CORNICE 


30s 


the  vertical  divisions  always  painted  on  the  hollow 
of  the  front  are  reminiscent  of  the  upright  lines  of 
the  original  stems  of  brushwood.  Not  only  was 
the  crowning  member  thus  derived  transferred  to 
stone,  but  it  became  universal,  and  appears  not 
only  in  Egypt  but  among  neighbouring  peoples, 
so  that   for   thousands    of  years,  till   the    Greek 


Fig.  9.— Egyptian  Cornice. 


mouldings  came  into  fashion,  this  was  practically 
the  only  artistic  finish  to  a  monumental  stone  struc- 
ture known  in  the  ancient  world.^  The  material 
itself  in  the  hands  even   of  those   mighty  stone 

^  It  is  true  that  a  crowning  member,  looking  like  a  row  of  shields 
rounded  at  the  top,  occurs  on  old  Syrian  fortresses  depicted  in 
Egyptian  inscriptions,  and  was  copied  in  one  instance  by  an  Egyptian 
stone  building,  the  pavilion  of  Medinet  Habu.  This  forai  probably 
originated  in  actual  shields  of  wood  placed  on  the  top  of  a  wall.  See 
Fl.  Petrie,  Aris  and  Crafts  of  Ancient  Egypt^  Lond.  1909,  p.  62  f. 

U 


3o6  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

builders,  the  Phcenicians,  seemed  barren  of  any 
suggestion  that  could  have  been  taken  up  and 
developed  into  an  alternative  form. 

§  145.  Tlie  Columned  Style  originates  in  Wood- 
Construction. 

The  Egyptian  cornice  leads  us  naturally  to  a 
fact,  the  significance  of  which  is  not  always  fully 
appreciated.  This  is  that  the  columned  style 
with  all  its  attendant  features,  as  we  find  them 
in  the  architecture  of  the  Hellenic  temple,  is 
really  a  timber  style  transferred  to  stone.  The 
fact  we  are  all  ready  to  admit,  but  do  we  suf- 
ficiently appreciate  the  consequent  consideration 
that  the  mouldings,  columns,  pilasters,  bases, 
capitals,  cornices,  which  to  the  modern  architect 
in  stone  are  the  grammatical  forms  whereby  he 
embodies  his  artistic  ideas  in  current  language, 
are  conventions,  or  as  some  fanatics  would  say 
'  shams,'  and  had  in  their  origin  no  relation  at  all 
to  stone  construction  ?  No  point  connected  with 
the  theory  of  architecture  is  more  important  than 
this,  for  it  upsets  in  a  moment  all  the  easy  theories 
about  the  logic  of  construction  which  give  a 
specious  air  of  simplicity  to  what  is  in  reality 
somewhat  complicated  and  difficult. 

This  columned  style  which  we  have  now  to 
analyse  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  logic  of 
construction,  has  prevailed  in  various  modifications 
throughout  architectural  history.  All  the  ancient 
peoples  of  whom  the  history  of  architecture  takes 
account  (with  the  exception  of  the  brick-building 
Babylonians  and  Assyrians)  were  familiar  with  it, 


ORIGIN  OF   COLUMNED   STYLES 


307 


and  it  flourished  in  Egypt  and  Phoenicia  as  well 
as  in  Greece  and  ancient  Italy.  Sometimes  the 
actual  material  was  stone  and  sometimes  wood, 
but  in  every  case  the  forms  are  timber  forms  and 
show  that  a  columned  style  in  wood  preceded 
similar  construction  in  stone.  For  example  the 
Palace  of  Solomon  (i  Kings  vii.  1-12)  was  built 
of  wood   in    the  columned   style,   and   the   early 


■mmm 


Fig.  10.— Section  of  part  of  Hypostyle  Hall,  Karnak,  showing  bud  and 
flower  Capitals. 


Etruscan  temples  were  of  the  same  material.  In 
Egypt  the  colossal  stone  columns,  some  of  them 
seventy  feet  in  height,  are  made  after  the  simili- 
tude of  slight  supports  of  wood,  representations  of 
which  are  numerous  in  the  wall  paintings  on  the 
tombs,  and  their  shape  is  that  of  the  papyrus  stem 
or  bundle  of  stems  crowned  with  a  bud  or  open 
flower  as  capital.  Below  they  stand  always  on  a 
round  disc  of  stone  which  was  originally  the  base 


3o8 


ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 


of  a  wooden  column  necessary  to  preserve  it  from 
contact  with  the  damp  earth  (see  Fig.  8).  Speci- 
mens of  these  floral  columns  are  shown  in  Fig.  i  o. 
Grecian  Doric  in  some  of  its  forms  (mutules, 
drops,  etc.)  is  obviously  carpenter's  work,  and  the 
same  is  true  of  the  dentils  of  the   Ionic  cornice. 


Fig.  II.— Fa$ade  of  rock-cut  Lycian  tomb. 


A  comparison  with  forms  occurring  in  Persia 
shows  that  the  Ionic  architrave  is  copied  from 
three  superimposed  beams  of  timber,  each  pro- 
jecting slightly  beyond  the  one  below.-^  The 
recent  exploration  of  Olympia  made  it  plain 
that  the  Heraeum,  probably  the  oldest  Greek 
Temple  of  which  remains  have  come  down  to  us, 

*Dieulafoy,  VArt  Antique  de  la  Perscy  Paris,  1884,  etc.  pt.  2. 


WOOD   CONSTRUCTION  309 

had  not  only  a  wooden  entablature,  but  also 
columns  of  wood,  which  were  replaced  from  time 
to  time  by  columns  of  stone,  and  the  last  one  of 
which  Pausanias  actually  saw  ^  when  he  visited  the 
place  in  the  second  century  A.D.  Fig.  1 1  shows 
the  facade  of  a  rock-cut  tomb  in  Asia  Minor,  in 
which  the  transference  of  timber  forms  to  stone  is 
very  boldly  carried  out. 

§  146.  Characteristics  of  Construction  in  Wood. 

The  most  obvious  characteristics  of  timber  con- 
struction are  (i)  the  form,  and  the  comparatively 
large  size,  of  the  structural  elements,  and  (2)  the 
manner  of  putting  the  materials  together.  Up- 
right posts  joined  together  by  horizontal  beams 
form  the  simplest  scheme  of  construction,  and  here 
the  different  members  boldly  meeting  at  right 
angles  present  strongly  marked  contrasts  in  direc- 
tion, as  in  Fig.  12,  where  the  vertical  and 
horizontal  pieces  are  united  above  by  common 
tenon-and-mortice  joints  at  A  and  B.  As  it  is 
not  easy  to  secure  rigidity  at  the  joints  owing  to 
the  length  of  the  vertical  arms  which  would  act 
as  powerful  levers  to  stir  the  tenons  in  the  mortice- 
holes,  it  is  common  to  introduce  a  further  member 
either  at  right  angles  to  the  verticals,  like  the 
cross-piece  C,  or  laid  diagonally  across  the  corner 
as  at  D,  or  filling  in  the  corner  with  a  solid 
triangular  block  like  E.  These  additional  pieces 
act  in  resisting  lateral  movement  and  keep  all 
firm. 

In  wood-construction  accordingly  we  may  ex- 

^  Descript.  Gracia^  v,  16,  I. 


3IO 


ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 


pect  to  find  long  extended  lines  corresponding  to 
the  shape  of  planks  or  beams  ;  the  principal  mem- 
bers of  the  framework  will  cross  each  other  at 
right  angles,  and  the  corners  may  be  filled  in  by 


Fig.  I :. — Diagram  of  Timber-construction. 

a  diagonal  member  securing  lateral  rigidity.  The 
ordinary  construction  of  our  household  furniture 
will  serve  for  illustration. 

§  147.  These  characteristics  appear  in  the  forms  of 
the  Greek  Temple. 

Now  the  columned  fagade  of  the  Greek  temple 
(see  Plate  III)  exhibits  exactly  this  same  system 
of  structure  petrified,  with  certain  modifications 
due  to  an  apt  sense  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
substituted  material.  In  actual  timber  construc- 
tion, where  long  beams  are  easily  to  be  had  and 


TIMBER   FORMS    PETRIFIED  311 

where  the  material  is  extremely  tough  and 
resisting,  the  supports  are  placed  far  apart,  and 
are  joined  by  lengthy  horizontals ;  and  some 
early  temple  porticoes  in  Greece,  like  that  of  the 
Heraeum  at  Olympia,  preserve  this  arrangement. 
In  employing  stone  however,  the  Greeks  soon 
came  to  realize  the  characteristics  of  the  material, 
and  altered  the  proportions  of  the  parts  in  the 
direction  of  far  greater  massiveness,  endeavouring 
thereby  to  secure  that  monumental  aspect  the 
tradition  of  which  civilized  architecture  had 
inherited  from  the  primeval  past.  Accordingly, 
in  the  fully  developed  Doric  style,  the  columns 
are  made  extremely  sturdy,  and  are  placed  so 
close  together  that  the  space  between  them  is 
less  than  twice  their  lower  diameter.  The  object 
is  that  they  shall  not  only  support  the  weight 
above,  but  proclaim  that  they  are  doing  so  with  a 
superabundance  of  power ^  and  this  is  carried  so 
far  that  according  to  Boetticher  all  known  Doric 
columns  are  thicker  by  at  least  one-fourth  than 
was  needful  for  accomplishing  the  work  required.-^ 
In  their  form  they  carry  out  the  same  artistic 
intention.  The  question  of  the  origin  of  the 
fluting  of  the  shaft  is  an  extremely  puzzling  one, 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  its  artistic  use  is  to 
emphasise  the  upright  character  of  the  column  by 
accentuating  through  repetition  its  outline  (com- 
pare §  125).  The  entasis  of  the  column  has  also 
been  much  discussed,  but  it  is  sufficient  for  our 
purpose  to  note  that  the  slight  outward  swell  of 
the  tapering  lines  which  bound  the  shaft  (recalling 

"^  Die  Tektonik  der  Hellenett,  2'®  Aufl.,  Berlin,  1874,  I.  p.  10. 


3ii  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

perhaps  the  rounded  forms  of  organized  living 
creatures)  conveys  an  impression  of  the  fulness 
of  life  and  energy  highly  conducive  to  the  effect 
desired.  The  thinning  of  the  shaft  above  hints  at 
a  fixed  limit  of  height,  which  no  mere  cylinder 
would  suggest,  and  when  we  have  arrived  at  this 
we  are  prepared  for  the  transition  to  the  upper  hori-  1 
zontal  members.  The  square  slab  or  abacus  on 
the  top  of  the  column,  with  its  projecting  surface, 
is  evidently  destined  to  embrace  and  receive  the 
superincumbent  weight,  but  between  it  and  the 
shaft  occurs  the  rounded  form  of  the  echinus. 
This  is  again  a  fertile  theme  of  controversy,  but 
it  may  be  suitably  regarded  as  an  example  of  a 
diagonal  form  filling  up  the  corner  between 
the  upright  and  the  horizontal  according  to 
a  common  construction  in  woodwork  (E,  Fig.  12). 
This  explanation  is  borne  out  by  the  appear- 
ance throughout  the  building  of  such  transitional 
forms  wherever  there  is  a  meeting  of  vertical 
with  horizontal  planes.  The  corner  is  every- 
where occupied  by  a  moulding  with  curved 
profile,  that  may  have  had  constructive  signifi- 
cance in  woodwork,  but  has  none  in  stone,  and  is 
used  in  stone  partly  as  a  reminiscence,  partly  for 
artistic  reasons  to  soften  the  sharp  transition  from 
one  plane  to  another,  or  from  support  to  weight. 
Above  the  abacus  we  find  the  horizontal  beams  of 
the  architrave.  These  in  strict  logic  complete  the 
scheme  of  construction,  and  in  the  Egyptian  portico 
are  followed  immediately  by  the  slabs  of  the  ceil- 
ing and  the  cornice.  To  the  Greek  eye  however 
there  was  a  want  of  due  proportion  between  the 


THE  DORIC  ORDER  313 

lofty  and  massive  supports  and  the  shallow  archi- 
trave, and  to  restore  the  balance  an  additional 
story,  so  to  say,  was  added,  lifting  the  cornice 
to  a  higher  level  and  forming  an  entablature 
correspondent  to  the  mass  of  the  supports.  This 
extra  story  is  the  frieze,  in  the  Doric  order  formed 
of  triglyphs,  or  short  upright  pillars,  fluted  or 
rather  grooved  in  a  way  that  reminds  us  of  the 
column-shaft  below.  These  pillars  carry  the  cor- 
nice, just  as  the  columns  below  carry  the  architrave ; 
the  intermediate  spaces,  called  metopes,  being 
filled  in  with  slabs  (see  Plate  III).  The  curious 
forms  of  the  regulae  below  the  string  course,  with 
their  *  drops '  or  peg-heads,  which  obviously  origi- 
nated in  wood  construction,  are  now  employed  in 
connection  with  the  triglyphs,  to  prepare  the  eye 
for  these  before  it  passes  the  dividing  line  between 
architrave  and  frieze,  and  so  to  prevent  the  too 
absolute  separation  of  the  two  divisions  of  the 
entablature. 

Above  the  frieze  comes  the  boldly  projecting 
cornice  reminding  us  of  the  eaves  of  a  timber 
roof.  The  entablature  presents  however  other 
features  of  more  special  interest  to  our  purpose. 
These  are  the  moulded  string-courses — projecting 
strips  of  stonework  running  the  whole  length  of 
the  elevation,  marking  off  the  architrave  from  the 
frieze,  the  frieze  from  the  cornice,  and  dividing  the 
latter  in  the  direction  of  its  length.  The  string- 
course may  be  quite  plain,  square  on  section  as  is 
the  band  between  the  architrave  and  frieze  on  the 
Doric  entablature ;  or  the  profile  of  it  may  be 
moulded,  so  that  part  projects  and   catches   the 


314  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

light,  part  is  worked  into  a  hollow  the  concavity 
of  which  produces  a  line  of  shadow.  This  indis- 
pensable feature  in  the  artistic  effect  of  the 
elevation  is  probably  another  of  the  debts  that 
stone  architecture  owes  to  wood.  It  is  a  very 
natural  carpenter's  form,  and  is  developed  readily 
from  the  use  of  material  that  extends  to  great 
length  in  one  direction.  So  easily  are  mouldings 
made  out  of  wood,  that  miles  of  them,  profiled  in 
every  conceivable  manner,  are  issued  every  week 
out  of  the  planing-mills  for  use  in  interior  fittings. 
The  long  thin  continuous  line  is  not  in  accordance 
with  the  natural  genius  of  stonework,  which  ex- 
presses itself  rather  in  *  bossy '  treatment  of  single 
blocks,  as  in  the  so-called  rustic  work.  It  has 
however  been  pointed  out  by  a  friendly  critic  that 
in  stone  building  flat  bonding-courses  of  masonry 
(or  tiling)  are  of  common  occurrence  (notably  in 
Roman  technique),  and  these  may  have  been  the 
origin  of  the  moulded  string-course.  Theoretically 
this  is  true,  but  in  architectural  chronology  the 
earliest  appearance  of  the  feature  points  strongly 
to  the  wooden  origin  here  claimed  for  it. 

§  148.  Significance  of  the  foregoing  facts. 

The  foregoing  will  justify,  it  is  believed,  the 
view  enunciated  earlier  in  this  chapter,  that  the 
beauty  of  architecture  is  based  on  construction, 
but  is  by  no  means  in  a  slavish  relation  thereto. 
The  forms  used  by  the  Doric  builders  are  in  some 
cases  mainly  constructive,  in  others  mainly  artistic, 
or  they  have  equal  significance  from  either  point 
of  view.     The  classical  fagade  is  a  standard  for 


CLASSICAL  CONVENTIONS  315 

architects  of  all  time  because  all  the  parts  have  a 
reason  and  are  in  an  organic  relation  each  to  each. 
They  all  possess  what  Boetticher  in  his  Tektonik 
happily  terms  a  *  work-form '  and  an  *  art-form,' 
the  former  consisting  in  a  general  shape  and  body 
of  material  adequate  for  the  work  to  be  performed ; 
the  latter  in  a  studied  contour,  in  details,  and  in 
ornament,  which  are  not  only  pleasing  to  the  eye 
but  are  significant  of  the  functions  and  interdepen- 
dence of  the  forms  so  treated.  The  work-form 
of  the  column  is  just  so  many  cubic  feet  of  stone 
in  the  shape  of  a  support,  the  art-form  comprises 
the  increase  of  mass  ;  the  tapering,  entasis,  fluting 
of  the  shaft,  by  which  it  becomes  so  expressive  of 
its  use ;  and  the  echinus  and  abacus  of  the  capital 
by  which  is  emphasised  the  all-important  relation 
of  the  support  to  the  weight  which  rests  above. 

§  149.  Use  of  the  forms  thus  established,  as  Conven- 
tions, in  later  Architecture,  as  in  Boman  and  Neo- 
classic  work; 

The  forms  thus  constituted  became  standard 
forms  in  ancient,  and  later  on  also  in  modern, 
architecture,  and  were  taken  up  again  and  used  in 
other  connections  where  they  were  without  con- 
structive significance,  becoming  in  the  process,  if 
we  like  to  use  the  term,  doubly  and  trebly  shams. 
This  was  done  even  by  the  Greeks.  The  free 
standing  column  whether  of  stone  or  wood  is  an 
intelligible  building  form  doing  just  what  it  pre- 
tends to  do,  but  the  column  embedded  in  a  wall 
or  mass  and  becoming  a  half-column  has  no  con- 
structive significance  (except  in  so  far  as  it  may 


3l6  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

strengthen  the  wall  as  a  buttress) ;  yet  the  Greeks 
themselves  did  not  hesitate  to  employ  it  in  this 
connection  when  occasion  seemed  to  require,  as  on 
the  monument  known  as  the  Lion  Tomb,  at 
Cnidus  (Fig.  13),  where  the  restoration  worked 
out  by  Sir  Charles  Newton  and  Mr.  Pullan  shows 
a  Doric  fagade  embedded  so  to  say  in  the  solid 
mass  of  masonry  of  the  monument.^ 

Other  branches  of  the  Greco- Italian  stock 
followed  the  same  fashion,  and  we  find  the 
Romans  bringing  the  column  and  architrave  in 
this  way  into  connection,  not  only  with  the  wall, 
but  the  wall  broken  by  arched  openings.  The 
colonnade  was  just  as  much  the  normal  and  uni- 
versal form  for  the  architectural  elevation  in  Italy 
as  it  was  in  Greece,  .and  it  was  in  the  columned 
style  that  the  Old  Italians  constructed  their 
temples,  the  only  public  buildings  of  importance 
in  their  early  cities.  As  we  have  already  seen, 
the  arch  was  only  used  by  the  Romans  till  the 
Imperial  Age  on  a  limited  scale  and  in  an  en- 
gineering rather  than  an  architectural  spirit.  They 
had  no  idea  that  it  could  be  so  treated  as  to 
constitute  by  itself  an  architectural  fagade,  as  it 
was  treated  by  the  architects  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance. An  elevation  without  the  essential  column 
and  architrave  was  to  them  hardly  possible.  Hence 
when  constructive  reasons  compelled  the  use  of 
the  arch  (as  was  the  case  in  massive  substructures 
supporting  the  seats  of  a  theatre  or  amphitheatre, 
where  its  weight-carrying  capacity  was  desirable), 
it   was  suffered  to   make   its   appearance   on  the 

^Newton,  Discoveries  at  Halicarnassusy  Lond.  1863,  l^*  P-  480 if. 


THE   ROMAN   ORDER 


317 


elevation  behind  the  orthodox  scheme  of  column 
and  architrave,  which  thus  becomes — to  our  eyes 
but  not  to  those  of  the  ancients — a  sort  of  arti- 


FiG.  13-  -  The  Lion-Tomb,  Cnidus. 


ficial  screen  masking  the  real  construction  behind 
(Fig.  14).  To  speak  of  this  scheme  as  if  it 
were  borrowed  from  the  Greeks  as  a  frontispiece 


3i8 


ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 


to  a  piece  of  native  construction,  is  to  ignore  the 
true  place  of  trabeate  construction  in  the  archi- 
tecture of  all  the  Mediterranean  peoples.  It  is  as 
much  native  at  Rome  as  at  Athens,  and  if  used  as 
frontispiece  to  a  mass  of  masonry  in  Greece,  it 
might  just  as  naturally  be  found  embedded  in  a 
wall  broken  with  arched  openings  at  Rome.  In  a 
somewhat  more  artificial  spirit  we  find  that  the 

architects  of  the  Re- 
naissance, and  of  the 
neo-classic  period  in 
more  recent  times, 
adopted  these  forms 
of  the  column,  half- 
column,  pilaster,  base, 
capital,  frieze  and  cor- 
nice, and  used  them 
with  little  construc- 
tive significance,  as 
elements  in  the  archi- 
tectural composition 
at  which  they  were 
aiming.  Among  the 
Florentine  palaces  of  the  fifteenth  century,  in  which 
Renaissance  architecture  found  its  earliest  com- 
plete expression,  there  are  some  where  the  effect  is 
produced  solely  by  the  wall  pierced  with  openings 
and  suitably  based  and  crowned  (see  Plate  VI) 
and  others  where  these  classical  fetaures  are  in- 
troduced as  artistic  aids  to  composition.  The 
fagade  of  the  Palazzo  Rucellai,  Florence,  by  Leon 
Battista  Alberti,  is  a  good  example  (Plate  IX).  In 
Wren's  work  in  London,  and  in  that  of  Adam  and 


Fig.  14. 


-Roman  combination  of  arched 
and  trabeate  forms. 


Plate  IX.       To  face  p.  31E 
Palazzo  Rucellai,  FlorencL-. 


LATER  USE   OF  THE   ORDERS  319 

Playfair  in  Edinburgh,  such  features  are  frankly 
employed  for  dividing  and  uniting  purposes,  and 
are  valuable  elements  in  those  fine  effects  of 
proportion  over  which  these  designers  had  such 
notable  mastery.  Much  has  been  said  against  the 
use  of  these  forms,  but  as  a  rule  the  critics  have 
been  already  prejudiced  in  favour  of  other  styles, 
and  have  had  no  eyes  for  the  sober  dignity  of 
classical  compositions.  It  need  hardly  be  said 
that  those  who  are  specially  enamoured  of  the 
picturesque  irregularity  of  medieval  buildings  are 
not  fair  judges  of  a  style  that  depends  so  largely 
for  its  effect  on  regularity  and  repetition,  and  on  a 
symmetrical  relation  of  the  wings  of  a  composition 
to  the  centre.  Unless  we  are  prepared  to  sweep 
away  all  neo-classic  architecture  from  the  fifteenth 
century  downwards  (which  is  a  position  that  only 
some  ultra-medievalists  would  dream  of  adopting) 
we  must  admit  that  a  just  and  tasteful  employ- 
ment of  conventional  forms  for  artistic  purposes, 
without  any  too  strict  dependence  upon  con- 
struction, is  a  legitimate  branch  of  the  work  of 
the  modern  architect. 

§  150.  and  even  in  the  Gothic  Style. 

For  this  free  treatment  of  architectural  forms 
there  is  ample  justification  to  be  found  in  the  very 
style  which  is  the  special  admiration  of  the  purists. 
In  Gothic  architecture  these  old  classical  forms  are 
still  to  a  great  extent  employed,  but  in  the  main 
as  accessories,  so  that  we  do  not  feel  that  any 
contradiction  exists — as  in  Roman  work — between 
the  arched  and  the  trabeate  forms.     The  slender 


320  ARCHITECTURAL  BEAUTY 

pillars  which  carry  the  weight  of  the  vault  to  the 
ground  are  moulded  into  the  form  of  half-columns 
terminating  in  capitals,  while  a  moulded  base,  the 
lineal  descendant  of  the  classical  Ionic  base,  in- 
variably occurs  below  the  shaft  or  group  of  shafts 
forming  the  main  pier  of  the  structure.  A  remin- 
iscence of  the  old  days  when  the  Early  Christian 
church  (out  of  which  the  Gothic  edifice  was 
evolved)  was  a  columned  structure  without  any 
vaulting,  occurs  in  the  moulded  capital  under  the 
main  arch  dividing  nave  from  aisles;  and  columns 
with  bases  and  capitals,  decoratively  employed,  are 
common  features  of  Gothic  buildings,  thus  serving 
as  additional  proof  how  sound  was  the  work  done 
by  the  Greeks  in  evolving  and  perfecting  these 
standard  forms. 

§  151.  The  G-othic  Moulding  as,  in  part,  a  conventional 
form. 

In  the  case  however  of  the  Moulding,  we  find  a 
form  largely  conventional  used  as  a  very  essential 
element  of  artistic  effect,  and  by  no  means  as  an 
accessory.  There  is  indeed  no  element  of  effect 
more  relied  on  by  the  Gothic  builders  than  the 
moulding.  It  is  used,  first,  for  purposes  of  enrich- 
ment, through  the  multiplication  of  parallel  lines 
of  liqjht-and-shade,  as  in  archivolts,  bases,  vaulting 
ribs  and  the  like,  in  the  manner  explained  in 
§125.  It  is  used,  next,  to  secure  long  horizontal 
lines  to  contrast  with  the  predominant  verticals  so 
characteristic  of  the  style.  In  the  composition  of 
a  Gothic  exterior,  the  projecting  buttresses,  the 
pinnacles,  the  window  jambs  and  mullions,  stand 


CONVENTIONS   IN   GOTHIC  321 

like  sheaves  of  upright  forms  incessantly  carrying 
the  eye  from  the  base  to  the  higher  stories.  To 
express  the  unity  of  the  ground  plan  of  the  build- 
ing as  a  connected  whole,  these  upright  sheaves 
have  to  be  bound  together  by  corresponding  hori- 
zontals, in  the  form  of  bases  and  string-courses. 
The  artistic  value  of  these  features  is  inestimable, 
but  they  have  only  in  certain  cases  a  motive  in 
construction.  For  example,  on  the  exterior  eleva- 
tion, the  drip  or  hood-moulding  is  motived  by  the 
need  of  preserving  the  wall  below  from  the  action 
of  the  rain,  and  its  undercutting,  which  produces 
an  effective  line  of  shadow,  is  designed  to  check 
the  downward  course  of  the  clinging  moisture. 
The  projecting  cornice  is  motived  in  the  same 
manner,  but  it  would  be  stretching  the  theory  of 
the  logical  character  of  Gothic  too  far  to  pretend 
to  find  constructive  reasons  for  anything  like  all 
the  mouldings  employed  in  a  thirteenth-century 
edifice.  The  same  hood-moulding  used  in  an 
interior,  though  an  excellent  finish  to  an  arch,  has 
not  the  same  reason  for  existence  as  on  an  exterior. 
These  features  are  indeed  in  many  cases  to  be 
regarded  in  the  same  light  as  the  columns  and 
pilasters,  being  conventional  forms  handed  down 
from  classical  times,  and  employed  as  artistic 
aids  towards  the  production  of  a  harmonious 
and  significant  artistic  unity. 

§  152.  Comparison  of  the  Early  Christian  Basilica 
with  the  later  Medieval  Church. 

It  may  be  useful  in  concluding  this  chapter  to 
glance    once    again    at   the    Gothic   church   as   a 

X 


322  ARCHITECTURAL   BEAUTY 

whole,  from  the  point  of  view  which  has  here  been 
maintained.  A  comparison  of  it  with  the  parent- 
form  of  the  Early  Christian  basilica,  makes  clear 
at  once  some  of  the  most  important  truths  about 
architecture  as  an  art — truths  the  most  significant 
portion  of  which  is  hidden  from  the  votaries  of 
*  respect  absolu  pour  le  vrai/  So  far  as  utility  and 
convenience  were  concerned,  a  building  of  the 
form  of  Sta.  Sabina  or  San  Paolo  at  Rome  was 
exactly  suitable  for  the  needs  of  a  Christian 
congregation  assembled  for  worship,  and  those 
architects  and  critics  who  insist  that,  if  these 
paramount  claims  be  provided  for,  the  design  will 
thereby  receive  all  the  artistic  character  it  needs, 
should  be  satisfied  with  the  simple  and  practical 
basilica.  But  whatever  may  be  the  views  of  those 
modern  architects  who  are  half-ashamed  of  being 
artists,  it  is  certain  that  the  early  medieval  builders 
themselves  were  not  so  easily  satisfied,  but  made 
the  basilica  the  starting-point  of  an  architectural 
development,  from  which  was  finally  to  be  evolved 
the  costly  and  complicated  structure  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  It  is  true  that  the  introduc- 
tion of  stone- vaulting  made  a  momentous  break 
in  the  even  course  of  evolution,  and  the  Gothic 
designers  deserve  all  the  credit  they  have  ever 
received  for  their  clear  and  consistent  application 
of  the  new  constructive  forms.  In  many  other 
respects  however,  the  great  cathedrals  only  carry 
out  with  more  elaboration  those  artistic  modifica- 
tions of  structure  which  were  begun  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Great,  or  at  a  still  earlier  period.  The 
design    of  the    basilicas   of  Rome  and   Ravenna 


THE   GOTHIC   CATHEDRAL  323 

has  only  one  feature  of  pronounced  architectural 
character — the  great  apse  in  which  the  interior 
terminates.  For  the  rest,  they  are  mere  buildings. 
The  walls  within  and  without  are  flat  and  un- 
broken, the  doors  and  windows  little  more  than 
gaps,  the  archivolts  of  the  nave  arcades  plain  and 
unmoulded,  the  different  parts  of  the  edifice  un- 
connected by  any  relations  of  proportion.  It  was 
the  work  of  the  early  medieval  builders  to  reduce 
the  plan  to  a  consistent  scheme,  and  to  bind 
organically  part  to  part ;  to  make  the  portals 
significant  in  form  and  proportion  and  rich  in 
membering  and  ornament;  to  balance  constructive 
verticals  by  horizontal  string-courses,  and  to  enrich 
these  by  moulded  profiles  and  reduplication  of 
lines  and  light-and-shade.  To  all  this  the  artists 
of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  went  on  to 
add  a  vastness  and  complexity  of  mass  and  of 
detail  of  which  the  earlier  builders  had  never 
dreamed,  to  multiply  forms  but  to  control  their 
working  through  largely-designed  guiding  lines, 
and  by  these  to  lead  the  eye  easily  on  from  point 
to  point,  till  it  should  be  able  to  grasp  the  whole 
mighty  complexus  as  a  single  ordered  work  of  art. 


CHAPTER   II 


THE  CONVENTIONS  OF  SCULPTURE 

§  153.  Sculpture  in  the  Bound  begins  with  Realism : 
examples  from  Egypt 

In  approaching  the  subject  of  sculpture  we  have 
to  remember  the  distinction  already  drawn  between 
work  in  the  round  and  sculpture  in  the  different 
forms  of  relief  The  latter,  as  we  have  se,en,  is 
not  purely  plastic,  but  partakes  somewhat  of  the 
nature  of  the  graphic  art,  and  obeys  conventions 
of  its  own  that  will  be  noticed  in  their  place. 
For  the  moment  it  is  only  with  the  former  that 
we  are  concerned. 

Sculpture  in  the  round  is,  in  its  inception,  the 
most  imitative  of  the  arts  of  form.  A  plastic  work 
represents  the  solid  thing  as  solid.  It  does  not 
imitate  form,  it  is  form,  and  proves  itself  such  by 
the  test  of  touch  as  well  as  by  the  eye.  It  is  not 
wonderful  therefore  that,  in  the  earlier  stages  of 
the  development  of  the  art,  imitation  of  a  crude 
and  direct  kind  was  the  prevailing  characteristic. 
Owing  to  his  use  of  all  the  dimensions  of  space, 


EARLY   REALISTIC   SCULPTURE  325 

the  sculptor  is  in  certain  respects  always  bound  to 
follow  nature  closely,  and  at  first  he  was  pressed 
to  carry  that  imitation  to  the  furthest  possible 
limit.  Nor  was  his  task  a  difficult  one.  His  art 
is  at  first  comparatively  easy,  far  easier  than  the 
sister  art  of  painting,  and  he  was  able  to  attain 
extraordinary  success  in  imitative  work  at  a  very 
early  period  in  artistic  history.  How  great  was 
this  success  we  see  when  we  turn  to  the  earliest 
important  works  of  sculpture  known  to  us,  the 
commemorative  statues  of  the  Egyptian  dead  of 
the  Old  Empire.  These  have  come  down  to  us 
in  considerable  numbers  from  the  age  of  the 
Pyramids,  and  are  mostly  preserved  in  the 
museum  of  Ghizeh,  near  Cairo,  though  some  fine 
examples  are  enshrined  in  the  Louvre.  The 
British  Museum  is  not  so  fortunate. 

These  figures  were  connected  in  their  origin 
with  Egyptian  beliefs  about  immortality,  and  were 
designed  to  preserve  to  all  time  the  outward 
lineaments  of  the  departed,  who,  even  if  his  em- 
balmed body  decayed  or  were  destroyed,  would 
still  live  on  in  his  effigy.  With  this  purpose  the 
work  had  to  be  made  as  life-like  as  possible,  and 
the  Egyptian  artists  carried  out  their  task  with  a 
skill  little  short  of  marvellous.  Not  only  were 
there  statues  of  the  deceased  person  himself — who 
was  always  one  of  the  upper  class,  for  only  great 
people  had  separate  tombs  and  statues — but  also 
of  his  retainers,  who  surrounded  him  in  the  tomb 
chamber  in  effigy  as  they  had  attended  him  in  life. 
A  statue  of  this  kind  meets  us  in  the  Egyptian 
gallery  on  the  first  floor  at  the  Louvre  (Plate  X.) 


326  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

It  is  that  of  a  scribe  who  squats  tailor-fashion, 
with  scroll  and  stylus  on  his  knee,  and  raises  his 
head  attentive  for  the  words  which  his  lord  or  his 
fellow-officer  is  ready  to  dictate  to  him.  It  is  not 
a  statue,  it  is  the  man.  Intelligence  beams  in  the 
countenance.  A  character  can  be  read  in  the 
alert  but  shrewd  and  cautious  aspect.  He  is  one 
who  knows  his  value,  but  is  mindful  first  of  his 
place  and  office,  and  is  all  upon  his  business.  We 
shake  hands  across  the  millenniums  with  this  essen- 
tially human  personage,  a  man  such  as  we  know 
and  respect  to-day,  and  he  is  so  living  before  us 
that  we  half  expect  to  see  him  lower  his  head  to 
inscribe  on  his  tablets  some  record  of  farm  produce 
or  item  of  the  household  accounts  of  a  chamberlain 
of  Pepi  or  of  Teta.  If  a  look  of  life  were  all  that 
is  desired  in  the  plastic  representation,  the  Egyp- 
tians had  mastered  the  sculptor's  art.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  however,  it  was  only  when  the  limits  of  this 
raw  imitation  were  reached  that  the  real  problem 
of  the  art  presented  itself.  When  sculpture  came 
to  a  knowledge  of  itself  this  easy  achievement  of 
its  early  prime  no  longer  satisfied.  ^  Such  praise  as 
crudely  exact  imitation  can  readily  secure  from  the 
vulgar  was  discarded.  A  more  or  less  artificial 
standard  constituted  by  a  refined  aesthetical  feeling 
was  set  up,  and  certain  CONVENTIONS  OF  SCULP- 
TURE were  elevated  into  an  unwritten  law  of  the 
plastic  art. 

§  154.  The  Greeks  established  Conventions  of  the  Art. 

The    study    of   these    conventions    forms    the 
subject   of  the  present   chapter.      In  attempting 


Plate  X.       To  face  p.  326. 
Seated  Scribe,   an  Egyptian  statue  of  the  Old  Empire,  in  the  Louvre. 


VALUE  OF  GREEK  STANDARDS     327 

to  formulate  them  reliance  must  be  placed  chiefly, 
though  not  entirely,  on  Hellenic  practice,  for 
the  work  of  the  Greeks  occupies  in  relation 
to  sculpture  as  a  whole  a  unique  position 
of  supremacy.  In  no  one  of  the  other  arts  of 
form  do  we  possess  so  universally  recognized  a 
standard.  Architecture  culminated  at  two  distinct 
periods,  in  two  buildings  markedly  different  in  tech- 
nical and  aesthetic  qualities,  the  Hellenic  Temple 
and  the  Cathedral  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Pain- 
ting has  had  its  two  heroic  ages — the  sixteenth 
century  in  Italy  and  the  seventeenth  century  in 
Spain  and  the  Netherlands.  Hence  there  are 
naturally  partisans  on  the  one  side  and  on  the 
other,  of  classical  or  Gothic  architecture,  of  Raphael 
or  of  Rembrandt,  and  these  have  at  different  epochs 
drawn  the  artistic  public  into  opposing  camps.  In 
the  use  of  sculpture  the  consensus  of  opinion  which  - 
gives  the  Greeks  their  position  of  supremacy  has 
been  practically  unbroken,  and  in  consequence  dis- 
cussions on  sculpture  tend  to  revolve  round  Hel- 
lenic procedure. 

.    §  155.  The  value  of  Greek  Standards  for  modem 
practice. 

It  is  one  thing  to  recognize  the  value  of  the 
standard  thus  obtained,  but  it  is  quite  another 
thing  to  attempt  to  derive  therefrom  any  rigid 
code  of  rules  for  the  art.  Neither  the  practice 
nor  the  criticism  of  sculpture  is  so  easy  a  matter. 
The  art  has  its  Italian  and  its  modern  periods,  as 
well  as  its  classical  period,  and  in  both  of  these  it 
has  betrayed  fresh  aspirations  which  have  at  times 


328  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

carried  it  far  beyond  the  traditions  of  the  antique. 
The  truth  is  that  in  sculpture,  as  in  the  other  arts, 
obedience  to  the  letter  is  death.  Art  lives  because 
the  genius  of  changing  ages  or  of  individuals  is  for 
ever  vitalizing  tradition,  and  introducing  new  prin- 
ciples of  growth.  The  secret  of  success  in  art  is 
so  to  blend  the  old  and  the  new  as  to  obtain  the 
full  value  of  both  indispensable  elements.  Upon 
Greek  practice  has  been  established  the  general 
body  of  those  conventions  of  sculpture  on  which 
the  tradition  of  the  art  is  based.  In  so  far  as 
such  conventions  follow  from  the  essential  prin- 
ciples of  the  art  itself,  they  are  of  universal  validity; 
in  so  far  as  they  represent  the  particular  Hellenic 
reading  of  those  principles  they  are  only  of  validity 
because,  as  a  fact,  they  led  to  the  most  accom- 
plished practice  of  the  art  which  the  world  has 
seen.  To  deviate  from  them  may  be  perilous, 
but  to  deviate  and  yet  succeed  is  the  prerogative 
of  genius. 

In  dealing  then  with  the  subject  before  us  the 
following  caution  will  be  necessary.  It  is  the 
main  object  of  this  chapter  to  formulate  the  prin- 
ciples of  sculpture  as  they  can  be  deduced  from 
the  nature  of  the  art  itself,  and  from  the  practice 
of  the  Greek  masters  so  far  as  they  expressed 
themselves  in  freedom.  But  at  the  same  time, 
let  us  remember  that,  just  because  the  Greeks  are 
recognized  as  our  examples,  we  must  be  sure  that 
what  we  adduce  as  exemplary  is  really  Greek.  In 
other  words,  let  us  acknowledge  that  we  come 
across  from  time  to  time  certain  elements  in  Greek 
practice  which  do  not  represent  the  free  choice 


THE   PRIMARY   CONVENTIONS  329 

of  the  artist,  but  are  due  rather  to  special  religious 
or  social  conditions,  or  had  remained  as  survivals 
from  more  primitive  epochs  of  the  art.  The  most 
important  of  these  elements  is,  perhaps,  the  use  of 
colour,  the  character  and  extent  of  which  we  have 
already  sufficiently  discussed.  Finally,  we  should 
take  into  account  those  modifications  in  sculptur- 
esque practice  which  naturally  and  legitimately 
follow  from  the  changed  conditions  under  which 
the  art  has  been,  and  will  be,  practised  in  the 
modern  world. 

§  156.  The  primary  Conventions  of  monumental 
Sculpture. 

We  have  already  glanced  at  sculpture  as  the 
expression  in  a  permanent  form  of  those  feelings 
which  find  their  first  spontaneous  outcome  in  the 
festival.  The  art  has  indeed  xome  before  us 
under  three  aspects ;  first,  as  decorative,  in  its 
function  of  supplying  permanent  adornment  of  a 
significant  kind  to  the  festal  structure ;  next,  as 
perpetuating  in  a  lasting  and  concentrated  shape 
the  beautiful  and  expressive  movements  of  the 
human  figure  in  the  dance  ;  thirdly,  as  embodying 
in  plastic  form  the  popular  conceptions  of  the 
deities  and  other  personages  who  peopled  the 
Hellenic  world.  In  fulfilling  these  functions 
sculpture  is  not  merely  representative,  but  com- 
memorative. It  imitates  nature,  but  imitates 
not  only  to  perpetuate  but  to  exalt  its  subject. 
This  character  belonged  to  all  the  more  important 
works  of  plastic  art  in  the  ancient  world,  and  upon 
it  depend  many  of  their  most  striking  qualities. 


330  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

Certain  characteristics,  following  from  the  very 
nature  of  the  art,  must  necessarily  belong  to 
plastic  works  in  the  round,  but  these  characteristics 
are  heightened  when  the  work  has  a  monumental 
intent.  Thus,  the  mere  fact  that  sculpture  in  the 
round  is  the  representation  of  material  objects  in 
all  their  three  dimensions,  carries  with  it  the  con- 
sequence that  every  part  must  be  clearly  shown 
and  be  as  accessible  to  the  touch  as  to  the  sight, 
and  from  this  material  necessity  it  follows  as  a 
kind  of  primary  canon  of  the  art  that  only  those 
objects  can  be  suitably  represented  in  sculpture  which 
have  a  certain  intrinsic  interest  and  importance. 
There  would  be  something  irrational  in  an  artist 
spending  his  skill  in  the  display,  and  in  a  sense 
the  exaltation,  of  what  is  not  worth  showing. 
The  painter  may  charm  us  with  the  mere  sugges- 
tion of  objects  under  a  veil  of  colour  or  in  some 
poetic  effect  of  light,  and  in  such  a  case  the  objects 
in  themselves  matter  nothing,  but  the  sculptor  has 
very  little  of  this  magic  at  his  command.  He  can, 
as  we  shall  see,  when  working  in  relief,  compass 
something  of  the  effect  of  suggestion  by  a  studied 
indefiniteness  of  modelling,  but  when  working  in 
the  round  he  has  not  got  to  suggest  but  to  shoWy 
and  the  qualities  which  make  his  subject  aestheti- 
cally attractive  must  be  of  an  intrinsic  and  flot  an 
accidental  kind.  It  is  true  that  at  different  epochs, 
both  in  ancient  and  modern  times,  a  freer  or  more 
severe  view  has  been  taken  of  the  range  of  subjects 
suited  for  plastic  treatment,  but  this  range  has 
always  been  greatly  circumscribed  when  compared 
for  example  with  that  open  to  the  painter,  and  has 


DIGNITY   OF  THE  ANTIQUE  331 

never  really  included  more  than  the  human  form 
and  that  of  some  of  the  higher  animals,  with  in- 
animate objects  introduced  merely  as  subordinate 
accessories.  To  put  it  briefly,  the  subjects  of 
sculpture  in  the  round  have  always  possessed  one 
at  least  of  the  two  characteristics  ascribed  by 
Cicero  to  the  Beautiful,  *  Dignity  '  or  '  Grace.'  ^ 

In  the  case  of  Greek  work,  which  was  in  the 
main  of  a  monumental  or  commemorative  kind, 
the  prevailing  quality  was  *  Dignitas,'  though  this 
did  not  exclude  the  complementary  quality  of 
*  Venustas '  or  grace,  related  to  the  other,  so  Cicero 
tells  us,  as  the  feminine  to  the  masculine.  Now 
the  Dignitas  of  Greek  sculpture  depended  in  the 
main  on  the  three  closely  related  qualities  of  im- 
posing mass,  inherent  nobility  of  subject,  and 
studied  beauty  in  form  and  composition.  These 
were  qualities  however,  not  merely  ■'  following  as 
consequences  from  the  very  nature  of  sculpture  in 
the  round,  but  conditioned  by  the  whole  attitude 
of  the  Greeks  towards  art,  and  by  the  place  that 
sculpture  occupied  in  the  Hellenic  world.  A  pre- 
ceding chapter  has  dealt  with  the  subject  of  the 
nature  and  the  constitution  of  the  themes  of  Greek 
sculpture,  and  it  need  only  be  said  here  in  brief 
that  the  Greeks  followed  out  to  its  extremest  con- 
sequence the  canon  of  their  art  above  noticed,  and 
exacted  not  only  a  certain  but  the  utmost  interest 
and  importance  in  their  subjects,  and  enhanced  by 
every  possible  artifice  the  impression  of  Dignity 
and  Grace  produced  by  their  works.  Wherever 
in  later  times  the  antique  has  been  known  it  has 

"^De  OJiciiSy  i.  c.  36. 


332  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

been  studied  as  the  source  and  inspiration  of  these 
qualities,  and  though  there  have  been  schools  of 
sculpture,  as  in  the  France  of  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries,  that  have  developed  in  com- 
parative, though  never  in  complete,  independence 
of  the  antique,  their  best  works,  however  exquisite 
in  design  and  feeling,  are  never  carried  so  far  in 
the  directions  indicated  as  the  masterpieces  of  the 
Hellenic  chisel. 

§  167.  Treatment  in  monumental  work  as  influenced 
by  Material  and  Scale. 

To  resume  then.  Palpable  grandeur  of  mass, 
inherent  dignity  in  subject,  and  loveliness  of  con- 
tour are  the  three  essentials  for  sculpture  as 
understood  by  the  Greeks,  and  these  really  follow 
as  corollaries  from  the  original  axiom,  that  the 
themes  of  an  art  which  represents  everything 
clearly  and  in  a  position  of  distinction,  should 
have  interest  and  importance  in  themselves.  Let 
us  now  go  on  to  consider  how  these  require- 
ments are  met  by  the  sculpturesque  handling  of 
material. 

The  question  of  actual  size  leads  naturally  to  a 
consideration  of  materials  and  technical  processes, 
foreign  to  the  purpose  of  this  chapter.  It  may  be 
said  briefly  that  there  is  practically  no  limit  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  figure  in  ordinary  stone,  for  this 
may  be  hewn  by  a  Deinocrates  out  of  a  vast 
mountain,  or  be  cut  in  the  face  of  a  cliff  like  the 
figures  of  Ramses  at  Abou  Simbul.  Flawless 
blocks  of  fine  marble,  on  the  other  hand,  can  only 
be  obtained  of  limited  size,  and  this  is  markedly 


MATERIALS   OF   SCULPTURE  333 

the  case  with  the  finest  of  all  statuary  marbles, 
the  so-called  *  Lychnites '  from  Paros.  The  block 
from  which  the  Hermes  by  Praxiteles  was  hewn, 
measuring  about  8  ft.  by  5  ft.  by  3  ft.,  was  of 
exceptional  dimensions.^  The  Venus  of  Milo  in 
the  Louvre  is  in  two  pieces,  but  a  join  in  a  marble 
statue  is  as  far  as  possible  to  be  avoided.  It  is 
probable  that  the  David  of  Michelangelo  is  as 
large  as  any  single  figure  wrought  in  fine  marble 
by  the  ancients.  Where  bronze  is  the  material 
employed,  very  large  castings  are  technically  diffi- 
cult, and  the  lower  half  of  the  great  figure  of 
Germania,  cast  some  years  ago  in  Munich,  was 
claimed  to  be  the  largest  known  single  casting  in 
the  world.  On  the  other  hand,  if  cast  in  separate 
sections,  like  the  famous  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  a 
gigantic  work  might  conceivably  be  built  up  in 
bronze.  In  ancient  times  colossal  figures  were 
often  constructed  of  timber  with  an  external 
coating  of  metal  plates  beaten  into  the  desired 
form,  or  inlays  of  ivory  ;  or  again,  the  beaten 
metal  plates  were  riveted  together  without  any 
wooden  framework,  and  this  process  has  again 
recently  been  adopted  in  the  case  of  Bartholdi's 
huge  figure  of  Liberty  for  New  York. 

Whatever  be  the  process  of  execution,  it  is  clear 
that  sculpturesque  treatment  will  vary  with  the  sizC; 
as  it  will  vary  with  the  position  and  monumental 
character  of  the  work.  It  is  a  physical  necessity 
that  a  large  figure  must  always  in  part  be  remote 

^Lepsius,  Griechische  MBxmoYstvidien,in  Ad^andlungender  Berliner 
Akademie,  1890.  The  writer  accepts  the  old  derivation  of  Lychnites 
from  \tl)xvos  a  lamp,  the  material  being  quarried  underground. 


334  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

from  the  eye  :  as  a  work  of  this  kind  is  made  for 
public  show,  and  can  only  be  effectively  seen  as  a 
whole  from  a  certain  distance,  it  will  demand  for 
its  proper  effect  a  lofty  pedestal  which  gives  it  due 
prominence  and  value,  but  removes  it  still  further 
from  the  spectator.  As  a  consequence  of  this  it 
will  often  happen  that  some  change  is  demanded 
tn  the  normal  relations  of  the  parts,  and  we 
learn  from  Vasari  that  Donatello  made  a  special 
study  of  this  point,  which  would  naturally  present 
itself  in  connection  with  the  then  new  study  of 
perspective.^  It  is  remarked  by  Eastlake  that 
the  '  Nod '  of  the  Olympian  Zeus  of  Pheidias  was 
intended  to  bring  the  face  more  into  the  direct 
line  of  the  spectator's  sight.^  Plato  in  the 
Sophist  credits  the  sculptors  of  his  time  with  the 
practice  of  altering  the  proportions  of  figures  of 
any  magnitude,  lest  '  if  the  true  proportions  were 
given  the  upper  part  which  is  further  off  would 
appear  to  be  out  of  proportion  in  comparison  with 
the  lower  which  is  nearer.'^ 

These  modifications  in  treatment  include  also 
(i)  composition  in  an  architectural  spirit^  (2)  omission 
of  needless  details^  (3)  simplification  of  masses.  In 
composing  a  group  for  distant  effect,  the  statuary 
must  think  first  of  all  of  his  masses  without 
troubling  himself  about  the  subject  represented  by 
each.  In  so  doing  he  will  be  treating  his  work 
like  an  architect,  and  will  be  concerned  first  with 

1  MacLehose  and  Baldwin  Brown,  Vasari  on  Technique,  p.  145. 
^Contributions  to  the  Literature  of  the  Fine  ArtSy  London,  1848, 
I.  p.  77. 
*P.  236,  but  see  Vasari  on  Technique ^  p.  i8of. 


MONUMENTAL  TREATMENT  335 

questions  of  proportion  and  balance,  rather  than 
with  suitableness  of  action  or  truth  .to  nature. 
Further,  when  a  work  has'  this  architectural 
character  and  is  meant  to  be  seen  all  round,  it 
should  retain  a  certain  similarity  of  aspect  from 
all  sides,  and  this  necessitates  symmetry  in  com- 
position. Whatever  be  the  shape  of  the  figure  or 
group,  absolute  stability  is  essential,  and  this 
question  of  stability,  always  of  importance  in 
exposed  figures  or  groups,  is  largely  one  of 
material.  With  a  material  like  marble,  both 
specifically  heavy  and  brittle,  great  care  has  to 
be  taken  to  provide  sufficient  support  below  for 
the  superstru(5ture.  A  single  standing  figure  in 
the  nude,  or  a  man^  on  horseback,  will  have  the 
whole  weight  of  the  torso,  or  of  the  body  of  the 
steed  with  its  rider,  upborne  on  supports  which  in 
their  weakest  point  only  contain  the  material  of  a 
pair  of  slender  ankles  or  a  horse's  four  pastern- 
joints.  This  is  not  enough  to  ensure  the  safety 
of  a  marble  figure  in  course  of  removal,  or  even 
under  wind  pressure  in  an  exposed  situation. 
Hence  all  sorts  of  devices  are  adopted  to 
strengthen  the  lower  portion  of  such  figures  by 
introducing  accessories  like  stumps  of  trees  or 
falling  drapery,  boxes  of  scrolls,  little  attendant 
cupids,  animals  and  the  like.  The  choice  of  such 
accessories  gives  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of 
taste  and  leads  sometimes  to  the  addition  of 
significant  motives,  such  as  the  dolphin  which 
curls  up  its  tail  by  the  side  of  the  sea-born  Venus 
(de'  Medici)  at  Florence.  But  they  tend  neces- 
sarily to  complicate  the  forms  with  which  they  are 


336  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

associated,  and  militate  against  the  simplification 
of  masses  just  spoken  of.^ 

When  however  the  material  is  bronze,  or  even  ! 
wood,  the  case  is  very  different.  The  strength  of 
the  latter  in  resisting  fracture  across  the  grain  is 
far  greater  in  proportion  to  its  weight  than  that 
of  marble,  while  in  the  case  of  bronze  the  material 
is  not  used  solid,  but  hollow,  so  that  it  is  possible 
to  cast  the  superstructure — the  body  of  horse  or 
man — very  thin,  while  the  use  of  more  material 
in  the  supports  gives  them  the  solidity  required. 
Bronze  used  in  the  way  just  indicated  represents 
in  truth  the  actual  material  of  the  living  body,  the 
large  masses  of  which  in  the  trunk  are  more  or 
less  hollow,  while  in  the  slender  supports  are  con- 
centrated all  the  strength  and  toughness  of  bone 
and  ligament  and  sinew. 

From  these  considerations  it  follows  that  for 
the  monumental  works  under  consideration,  by  far 
the  most  suitable  material  is  bronze^^  which  was  in 
fact  the  normal,  though  not  the  exclusive,  material 
of  the  Greek  statuary  for  works  in  the  open  air.^ 

The  use  of  bronze  leads  at  once  to  certain 
peculiarities  of  treatment  always  finely  observed 
by  the  ancients.  The  dark  hue  of  this,  when 
oxidized    by   exposure  to  the   air,  precludes  the 

^  In  cases  where  a  bronze  original  has  afterwards  been  copied  in 
marble,  as  was  often  the  case  in  ancient  times,  supports  have  been 
added  to  counteract  the  more  brittle  nature  of  the  stone ;  as  for 
instance  the  support  under  the  arm  of  the  Apoxyomenos  (athlete 
using  the  strigil)  in  the  Vatican  (see  Plate  XIII). 

2  The  Nike  of  Pseonios  at  Olympia,  and  the  Nike  from  Samo- 
thrace  in  the  Louvre,  are  striking  examples  of  a  bold  composition 
in  marble  when  the  subject  would  have  suggested  bronze. 


OPEN-AIR  EFFECT  337 

effect  of  internal  detail,  while  it  makes  the  outline 
tell  out  in  silhouette  with  startling  distinctness. 
If  at  a  distance  the  forms  so  seen  are  to  proclaim 
their  story  clearly,  it  is  of  immense  advantage  to 
get  rid  of  any  needless  accessory  and  to  disem- 
barrass them  as  much  as  possible ;  every  line  can 
thus  be  made  to  tell,  when  such  only  are  intro- 
duced which  have  actual  relation  to  the  organized 
structure.  The  composition  of  such  a  work 
demands  the  highest  efforts  of  the  statuary's  skill, 
and  a  consummate  knowledge  of  the  essentials 
rather  than  the  ornamental  accessories  of  his  craft. 
Clearness,  gained  by  simplification,  is  the  first 
essential,  and  unless  this  be  secured  it  is  of  but 
little  avail  to  insist  on  searching  imitation  of 
nature,  or  richness  of  interior  markings.  Nature, 
it  is  true,  supplies  the  main  organic  structure  and 
the  action,  and  these  are  to  be  rendered  with  the 
utmost  distinctness  and  force  ;  but  unless  the  fine 
composition  give  to  the  whole,  at  the  first  glance, 
an  artistic  significance,  the  most  praiseworthy 
efforts  after  truth  are  only  thrown  away. 

An  excellent  opportunity  for  the  study  of  this 
point  of  sculpturesque  treatment  is  to  be  found  at 
Berlin,  where  aloft  on  the  four  corners  of  the  old 
museum  in  the  Konigsplatz  there  stand  four  large 
groups  in  bronze.  Two  are  reproductions  in 
bronze  of  the  famous  horse  tamers  or  '  Castor 
and  Pollux'  from  the  Quirinal  at  Rome  (the 
originals  are  of  dark  marble),  and  two  are  bronze 
equestrian  groups  by  excellent  German  sculptors 
of  the  last  generation.  The  contrast  in  effect  is 
most  marked.     The  antique  groups  tell  out  with 


338  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

perfect  clearness  against  the  sky  from  any  point 
of  a  pretty  wide  circuit,  and  the  contours  are  both 
beautiful  and  intelligible,  while  the  modern  works, 
though  good  examples  of  their  time  and  school, 
are  confused  masses  in  which  the  eye  can  dis- 
tinguish neither  action  nor  composition.  It  is 
unfortunate  that  no  great  classical  monument  in 
bronze  has  come  down  to  us  from  the  finest 
period  of  the  art,  but  the  Renaissance  produced, 
in  Verrocchio's  equestrian  statue  to  Colleoni  at 
Venice,  an  unsurpassable  masterpiece  of  the 
monumental  style  we  are  here  considering. 

This  statue  (Plate  XI)  honours  Bartolommeo 
Colleoni,  lord  of  Bergamo,  the  captain-general  of 
the  forces  of  the  Venetian  republic,  and  seems  to 
represent  him  advancing  at  the  head  of  his  men- 
at-arms,  while  watching  in  vigilance  for  the 
moment  when  he  shall  give  the  signal  to  charge. 
The  pedestal,  so  important  an  element  in  the 
monumental  effect  of  statuary,  is  justly  pro- 
portioned to  the  effigy,  which  is  placed  upon  it  so 
far  to  the  front  that  there  is  a  sense  of  forward 
movement  without  any  hint  of  insecurity.  Man 
and  horse  are  as  one ;  the  embodiment  of  irre- 
sistible force  held  severely  in  reserve.  The  horse, 
the  noblest  representative  of  his  own  ponderous 
type  in  art,  was  studied  by  Diirer  for  his  Knight 
and  Death,  and  the  suggestion  of  the  measured 
earth-shaking  tread  of  the  creature  is  not  less 
impressive  than  the  gaze  of  the  impassioned  rider 
as  he  glares  from  under  the  shadow  of  his  helm. 

*  In  close  fight  a  champion  grim, 
In  camps  a  leader  sage,' 


>  >  >  J 

>  >  J . 


Plate  XI.       To  face  p.  338. 
Equestrian  Statue  of  Bartolommeo  Colleoni  at  Venice. 


BRONZE   AND   MARBLE  339 

he  reveals  his  personality  at  a  flash  to  the  same 
glance  that  has  taken  in  as  a  whole  the  clear  and 
satisfying  composition.  The  work  illustrates 
sculpturesque  treatment  in  detail  as  finely  as  it 
does  the  quality  of  general  effectiveness,  but  it  is 
with  this  alone  that  we  are  for  the  moment  con- 
cerned. 

§  158.  Conventions  of  Treatment  in  works  designed  for 
a  nearer  view  :  the  handling  of  Bronze  and  Marble. 

The  austere  feeling  of  simple  and  massive  com- 
positions of  this  kind  was  carried  by  the  Greeks 
through  all  their  works  in  the  round,  which  are 
always  architecturally  disposed  and  rendered  with 
that  breadth  which  in  artistic  treatment  makes  for 
greatness.  Nevertheless  there  are  points  of  treat- 
ment of  a  more  intimate  kind  that  apply  rather  to 
works  intended  for  a  closer  view  in  interiors  than 
to  the  out-of-door  monument.  We  will  continue 
this  study  of  the  main  conventions  of  sculpture 
with  especial  reference  to  these.  Here  again  there 
are  conventions  depending  on  the  varying  colour 
and  texture  of  materials.  Bronze  and  marble,  the 
two  standard  materials  for  sculpture,  differ  as  to 
these  in  the  most  marked  manner.  The  one  is 
dark  and  opaque,  the  other  light-coloured  and 
semi-transparent.  On  the  former,  delicate  transi- 
tions of  light-and-shade  make  no  show,  on  the 
latter  they  may  be  exceedingly  subtle  and  yet 
fully  effective,  while  the  light  penetrating  slightly 
the  transparent  texture  of  the  stone  gives  a 
beautiful  look  of  softness  to  the  delicately 
rounded  surface.      Hence  there  are  distinct  styles 


340  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

of  modelling  suited  for  bronze  and  for  marble  ; 
and  the  difference  is  as  a  rule  noticeable  in  good 
Greek  work  though  it  is  not  always  observed  by 
moderns.  The  fact  is  that  in  modern  times  the 
statuary  makes  in  every  case  a  full-sized  model 
of  his  complete  work  in  clay,  which  is  afterwards 
transferred  by  further  processes  into  the  perma- 
nent material.  Whether  this  is  destined  to  be 
bronze  or  marble,  the  modelling  is  actually  done 
in  the  clay,  so  that  it  requires  special  considera- 
tion to  secure  a  quality  in  it  suitable  either  for 
the  one  or  for  the  other.  Ancient  practice  seems 
to  have  dispensed  with  the  full-size  clay  model,  so 
that  after  the  main  lines  of  the  work  had  been 
well  studied  in  a  model  on  a  small  scale,  an 
attack  would  be  opened  directly  on  the  marble. 
Or  if  bronze  was  to  be  the  material,  a  very 
common  method  of  procedure  was  to  build  up  the 
core  of  the  work  nearly  to  the  full  size  in  fire-clay 
and  then  to  finish  it  with  a  skin  of  wax,  which 
received  all  the  surface  details,  and  was  probably 
something  of  the  same  hue  as  the  metal  that  was 
ultimately  to  take  its  place.  ^  To  this  wax  a  style 
of  finish  was  applied  suitable  for  bronze,  while  in 
the  other  case  the  marble,  as  it  was  worked  into 
shape,  naturally  acquired  under  the  chisel  its 
appropriate  texture.  Hence  these  differences  of 
treatment  in  relation  to  material  naturally  bulk 
more  largely  in  ancient  practice  than  in  modern 
and  should  always  be  looked  for  and  studied,  note 
being  taken  of  the  fact  that  bronze  originals  have 
often  come  down  to  us  only  in  marble  copies,  so 
that    we    find    indications    of   bronze    treatment, 


I 


DIFFERENCE    IN   THEIR   HANDLING      341 

though  the  material  may  actually  be  marble. 
Forms  in  marble  are  fuller,  more  delicately 
rounded,  and  blend  more  subtly  together  than 
in  bronze,  where  we  find  instead  a  certain  spare- 
ness  and  angularity.  Further,  as  detail  shows  less 
clearly  in  the  dark  material,  projections  are 
emphasised  and  corners  sharpened  to  give  clear- 
ness to  shadows.  The  line  of  the  brow  is  sharp 
in  bronze  ;  the  locks  of  hair  are  more  distinct ; 
the  mass  of  hair  over  the  forehead  undercut  to 
gain  shadow. 

§  159.  The  Rendering  of  Natural  Forms ; 

There  follow  to  be  noticed  the  methods  or  con- 
ventions adopted  by  the  Greeks  in  the  treatment 
of  the  subjects  selected  for  sculpturesque  rendering. 
*  Treatment '  implies  something  '  treated,'  and  this 
is  supplied  to  the  sculptor  by  nature  ;  the  Greeks 
however  never  accepted  anything  from  nature 
without  in  each  case,  by  one  and  the  same  act, 
bringing  it  into  relation  with  a  scheme  of  artisti(^ 
handling.  Nature  as  such  was  not  to  the  Greek 
sculptor  an  object  of  regard;  but  neither,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  mere  art,  when  out  of  relation  to 
nature.  No  sculptor  of  sensibility  can  be  in- 
different to  the  freshness,  the  variety,  the  never- 
exhausted  interest  of  the  forms  of  nature,  or  fail  to 
make  an  effort  to  transfer  a  part  at  any  rate  of  the 
charm  to  his  work.  Hence  we  hardly  know  which 
to  wonder  at  most  in  the  Parthenon  Marbles,  their 
truth  to  nature  or  their  superb  artistic  style.  The 
broad  treatment  so  apparent  in  the  best  works  of 
the  Greeks  did  not  exclude  the  liveliest  interest  in 


342  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

nature,  for  we  saw  (§§  1 1 6  f.)  that  true  artistic 
breadth  results,  not  from  emptiness,  but  from  the 
subduing  and  harmonizing  of  strong  and  telling 
elements.  To  understand  Greek  treatment  in 
sculpture  it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  for  a 
moment  what  were  these  elements  which  nature  in 
this  way  supplied. 

In  man  and  in  the  higher  animals,  the  sculptor 
found,  in  the  first  place,  organic  forms  endowed 
with  functional  activity  and  of  exquisite  and  vary- 
ing beauty  of  mass  and  contour,  with  the  addition 
in  the  human  countenance  of  emotional  expres- 
sion ;  and,  next,  in  the  one  case  clothing,  and  in 
the  other  fur  or  plumage,  with  the  addition  in  both 
cases  of  trappings  and  ornaments.  His  oppor- 
tunities for  the  study  of  the  human  figure  both 
nude  and  draped  we  have  already  noted  (§§  26  f) 
and  have  only  to  add  that  he  was  content  to  take 
nature  broadly  speaking  as  he  found  it,  represent- 
ing the  figure  nude  or  draped  as  it  appeared  nude 
or  draped  in  real  life,  and  taking  thence  also 
the  cut  and  set  of  clothes.  Thus  the  youthful 
athlete,  or  the  god  or  hero  of  like  age  and  personal 
habits,  appears  naked,  the  older  man,  or  the  more 
dignified  god,  draped  in  full  robes.  The  female 
figure  was  draped  in  scenes  of  human  life  or  on 
Olympus,  except  when  the  bath  gave  occasion  for 
the  laying  aside  of  robes,  or  when  Aphrodite  is 
shown  as  the  ocean-born  goddess.  Further,  the 
fashion  of  the  vestments  is  copied  from  nature. 
Vase-paintings  and  pictures  at  Herculaneum, 
Pompeii  and  Rome  show  a  dress  similar  to  that 
exhibited  in  sculpture,  and  there  is  no  reason  to 


TREATMENT   OF   NATURE  343 

suppose  that  the  painters  were  in  league  with  the 
statuaries  to  represent  some  artificial  or  conven- 
tional substitute  for  the  dress  really  worn.  Though 
there  are  considerable  varieties  in  this  dress,  due 
not  so  much  to  its  form  as  to  diverse  methods  of 
wearing  it,  yet  its  essential  character,  in  which  it 
differs  from  modern  costume,  remains  the  same, 
and  depends  on  the  fact  that  it  was  made  up 
without  any  cutting  or  sewing,  simply  by  the 
folding  and  arrangement  of  a  rectangular  piece  of 
cloth. 

How  did  the  human  form  present  itself  to  the 
Greek  sculptor  ?  A  bony  framework  consisting  in 
the  main  of  three  hollow  boxes  or  walled  cavities, 
the  skull,  the  thorax  and  the  pelvis,  joined  by  the 
flexible  spine  and  giving  attachment  to  the  freely 
moving  limbs,  is  covered  with  bundles  of  mus- 
cular fibres,  acting  dynamically  in  flexing  and 
extending  the  spine  or  the  extremities,  but  pre- 
senting themselves  to  the  eye  as  more  or  less 
rounded  cushions  covering  the  angles  of  the 
skeleton,  and  in  flatter  masses  clothing  the  trunk 
and  limbs  and  joining  with  elastic  tissue  one  rigid 
part  to  another.  Every  movement  of  the  skeleton 
is  due  to  the  activity  of  some  of  these  bundles  of 
fibres  exerting  their  pull  by  an  act  of  contraction, 
which  thickens  them  in  the  middle  by  so  much  as 
their  extremities  or  attachments  are  drawn  nearer 
together.  At  these  extremities  the  soft  fibres  run 
together  and  are  contracted  and  hardened  into 
sinews  or  tendons,  lengthened  sometimes,  as  in  the 
front  of  the  forearm,  into  cords  which  appear 
tense   beneath   the    skin  when    the   muscle  is  in 


344  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

action.  Clothing  these  muscular  masses,  and  fill- 
ing in  to  a  great  extent  the  divisions  between  the 
bundles  of  fibres  composing  them,  is  the  softer 
fatty  structure  or  adipose  tissue,  while  the  super- 
ficial veins,  branching  in  a  network  over  the 
surface,  swell  or  fall  according  to  the  pressure  in 
them  of  the  blood.  The  hair  on  head  or  chin  is 
of  shifting  and  uncertain  texture,  and  of  tone  and 
tint  more  or  less  distinct  from  the  skin. 

And  what  were  the  elements  offered  for  artistic 
treatment  by  Greek  drapery  ?  Folds — sharp, 
numerous  and  gracefully  angular  in  thin  materials, 
broad  and  rounded  in  those  of  thicker  texture 
— with  certain  special  features  such  as  girdles, 
borders,  buttons  and  clasps. 

§  160.  and  their  artistic  handling,  as  illustrated  in 
the  Parthenon  Fragments. 

To  the  subject  of  the  Conventions  of  Sculpture 
belong  various  points  in  the  artistic  treatment  of 
these  forms,  that  are  eminently  characteristic  of 
the  work  of  the  Greeks.  They  seem  to  have 
sought  for  contrasted  elements  in  the  materials 
thus  offered  by  nature,  in  order  that  by  playing 
one  off  against  the  other  they  might  compass  a 
higher  beauty.  These  contrasted  elements  they 
found,  first,  in  the  forms  of  finely-folded  drapery 
or  crisply-curled  and  wavy  locks,  as  against  the 
rich,  full  masses  of  the  nude  (see  §  126). 

Next,  in  drapery  itself,  the  thin  under-tunic  is 
contrasted  with  the  outer  robe  of  heavier  material 
and  plainer  convolutions,  and  finally  in  the  treat- 
ment  of  the  flesh   itself,   a   far  harder  matter,  a 


IN   THE   HUMAN    FORM  345 

sufficient  use  is  made  of  the  finer  local  markings 
which  give  animation  to  the  surface  in  contrast  to 
the  main  structural  features  of  the  form.  Now  it 
may  seem  a  comparatively  simple  matter  for  a 
skilled  statuary  to  represent  so  familiar  and  acces- 
sible a  natural  object  as  the  human  body,  with 
general  truth  and  with  a  specific  accuracy  in 
details  that  avoids  at  the  same  time  any  over- 
minuteness  tending  to  a  sacrifice  of  breadth.  Yet 
a  little  comparison  of  the  Parthenon  Marbles  with 
other  works  of  Greek  sculpture  open  for  study  will 
show  how  extraordinarily  rare,  at  any  rate  in 
extant  work,  is  that  combination  of  massive  breadth 
with  extreme  sensitiveness  and  play  of  surface 
exhibited  in  the  nudes  of  the  Parthenon. 

The  Hermes  of  Praxiteles  is  useful  for  com- 
parison. It  is  not,  like  so  many  extant  antiques, 
only  a  copy  from  a  lost  original,  but  is  a  genuine 
first-hand  work  of  one  of  the  greatest  Attic 
masters — though  probably  a  work  of  his  youth — 
and  it  dates  about  eighty  years  "after  the  Parthenon. 
The  head  of  Hermes  is  of  the  highest  beauty,  and 
for  reasons  to  be  afterwards  given,  represents  an 
advance  upon  the  heads  of  the  earlier  period,  but 
the  form  itself,  though  perfect  in  pose  and  general 
contour,  misses  altogether  the  quality  of  surface 
best  expressed  by  the  word  '  sensitiveness.'  The 
impression  given  is  rather  that  of  a  single  sub- 
stance of  even  texture  under  the  skin  than  of 
substances  so  varied  as  rigid  bone,  firm  but 
elastic  cartilage,  hardened  or  cord-like  sinew 
passing  off  into  bundles  of  fleshy  fibres,  soft 
filling  in   of  adipose  tissue,  swelling   and  falling 


346  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

veins.  Examine  from  this  point  of  view  the  left 
shoulder  and  side  of  the  Theseus  (see  Frontis- 
piece), and  note  the  distinctness  and  individuality 
of  the  forms  of  the  muscular  masses,  as,  for 
example,  the  deltoid  muscle  covering  the  shoulder, 
and  the  pectoral,  with  their  stark  angularity  sug- 
gestive of  active  force ;  the  flatness  and  spareness 
over  the  ribs  where  bone  and  cartilage  lie  close 
under  the  skin  ;  the  clear  indication  of  the  lobes 
of  the  serratus  magnus  muscle,  which  yet  have 
each  its  own  particular  shape  and  direction,  and 
the  marked  transition  from  these  firmer  and 
distincter  forms  to  the  soft  abdominal  portions 
below.  Then  compare  all  this  with  the  uncharac- 
teristic round  cushion  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
Hermes,  the  dough-like  puffiness,  and  the  general 
monotony  of  treatment  over  all  the  parts  indicated. 
Or  notice  in  the  Ilyssus,  how  well  the  carver  has 
grasped  the  difference  between  the  comparatively 
rigid  bony  boxes  of  the  thorax  and  the  pelvis — 
themselves  always  remaining  the  same  but  chang- 
ing their  relative  position  through  the  flexure  of  the 
spine — and  the  elastic  abdominal  parts  connecting 
them,  which  are  pulled  out  of  their  normal  position 
as  the  body  turns.  The  muscular  mass  covering 
the  left  shoulder  of  the  Poseidon  torso  is  mag- 
nificent in  its  weight  and  breadth,  and  may  be 
compared  with  the  corresponding  part  on  the 
more  spare  and  athletic  Theseus.  In  the  human 
body  the  muscular  fibres  of  the  deltoid  muscle  are 
divided  up  into  different  bundles  or  fleshy  lobes, 
and  these  divisions  of  the  general  mass  are  in  the 
marble    most    tellingly    characterized,   while    the 


AND    IN    DRAPERY  347 

whole  is  fused  into  one  broad  general  impression. 
In  the  head  of  the  horse  of  Selene  (Plate  XII) 
remark  the  masterly  treatment  of  sensitive  fleshy 
parts  about  the  nostril,  quivering  with  life  as  the 
veins  swell  and  fall  with  the  rush  and  ebb  of 
blood,  in  comparison  with  the  flatness  of  the  bony 
cheek,  the  rigidity  and  angular  edge  of  which  are 
accentuated  for  contrast. 

Passing  from  the  treatment  of  the  nude  to  that 
of  drapery,  we  are  struck  with  the  same  incom- 
parable truthfulness  of  rendering  both  in  general 
forms  and  in  details,  combined  with  a  tact  in 
composition  that  never  fails  to  secure  the  utmost 
possible  artistic  effect  out  of  the  given  elements. 
The  broadest  aspect  of  drapery  is  that  in  which  it 
serves  to  explain  or  emphasise  action  and  assist 
the  general  expression  of  a  figure.  Thus,  in  large 
folds,  suggesting  a  thick  material  and  falling 
heavily  about  a  form,  it  carries  with  it  dignity, 
while,  fluttering  lightly  around  or  above  the  person, 
it  lends  it  grace  and  animation.  Movement  is 
shown  by  the  parting  skirt  that  reveals  the  knee 
or  side,  and  by  the  mantle  streaming  in  the  wind. 
Drapery  is  also  deftly  turned  to  account  in  com- 
position when  forms  have  to  be  united  by  guiding 
lines.  With  a  little  ingenuity,  folds  of  drapery 
can  be  made  to  look  natural  almost  anywhere  that 
they  are  wanted,  and  they  may  serve  for  support, 
as  in  the  marble  Nike  of  Paeonios,  found  at 
Olympia,  or  else  to  enclose,  and  hence  simplify, 
broken  masses  so  as  to  keep  the  eye  from  straying. 
We  may  further  consider  its  use  as  an  element  in 
that  contrast  of  richness  with  simplicity  already 


348  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

referred  to.  The  group  known  as  the  Fates 
from  the  Eastern  Pediment  of  the  Parthenon, 
especially  the  reclining  figure  nearest  the  angle,  is 
in  this  respect  *  classical.'  To  show  how  inti- 
mately in  touch  with  nature  were  these  Greek 
sculptors,  it  may  be  noticed  that  in  the  various 
draped  female  figures  extant  from  the  two  pedi- 
ments, there  are  all  sorts  of  variety  in  the  fashion 
of  wearing  clothes  which  the  observant  student 
will  quickly  recognize.  In  the  reclining  figure  the 
robe  is  of  thin  material  reaching  to  the  feet  and' 
buckled  down  the  arm  so  as  to  make  a  sleeve.  It 
is  girdled  in  at  the  waist  with  a  round  cord,  and 
as  it  is  slightly  pulled  up  through  the  zone  the 
doubled  part  falls  over  this  again.  The  clasp  which 
fastened  the  robe  on  the  shoulder  is  however  un- 
done. Here  again  it  would  seem  a  simple  matter 
enough  to  compose  and  copy  folds  of  drapery,  but 
no  sculptor  has  ever  made  these  so  beautiful  as  on 
the  torso  of  this  figure.  As  a  whole  the  crisp  folds 
are  intended  to  enhance  by  contrast  the  rounded 
masses  of  the  mature  womanly  form,  such  as  the 
right  shoulder  and  largely  moulded  bosom,  with  the 
right  knee  of  the  supporting  figure,  which  in  their 
turn  by  their  simple  dignity  of  mass  make  more 
winningly  exquisite  the  play  of  the  delicate  curves 
losing  and  finding  themselves  again  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  drapery.  In  pure  delight  to  the  eye 
in  composition  of  line,  this  group  is  unrivalled  in 
art.  The  effect  of  the  heavier  mantle  folded  over 
the  lower  limbs  is  also  finely  studied,  especially  in 
its  contrast  with  the  thinner  tissue  of  the  under- 
robe,  while  if  the  student  will  take  the  pains  to  go 


AND   IN   THE   HAIR  349 

round  to  the  back  of  the  figure — never  destined  to 
be  seen  when  once  it  had  left  the  master's  work- 
shop— he  will  find  in  the  portion  of  drapery  falling 
from  the  shin,  and  even  that  which  lies  over  the 
flatly  cut  rock  whereon  the  form  reposes,  a  most 
masterly  treatment  of  lines  well  worthy  of  admira- 
tion. 

With  regard  now  to  the  treatment  of  the  hair, 
the  headless  condition  of  the  Parthenon  figures 
precludes  any  study  from  these  of  this  particular 
detail,  but  we  know  enough  to  be  sure  that  it  was 
quietly  treated,  as  was  the  case  in  all  the  works  of 
the  great  period.  The  use  of  it  corresponds  as  a 
rule  to  that  made  of  the  thin  folds  of  drapery,  and 
its  contrast  with  the  form  is  well  exemplified  in 
the  lovely  waving  locks  over  the  forehead  of  the 
Demeter  from  Cnidus  in  the  British  Museum,  as 
well  as  in  the  Venus  of  Milo,  where  a  tress  falls 
with  masterly  effect  between  the  smooth  large 
shoulders  of  the  noble  creature.  In  the  case  of 
the  mane  or  fell  of  the  horse  and  the  lion,  it  is 
noteworthy  how  restrained  is  the  treatment  in  the 
finest  period  of  Greek  art.  In  the  pediment 
sculptures,  the  mane  of  the  horses  of  the  Sun  and 
of  Selene,  as  well  as  that  of  the  chariot  horses  of 
Athene  (known  only  through  Carrey's  drawing)  is 
barely  indicated,  and  the  same  treatment  occurs 
throughout  the  frieze.  There  is  only  one  really 
flourishing  tail  among  all  the  Centaurs  of  the 
metopes,  and  this  is  the  one  which  is  being 
whisked  in  triumph  in  metope  No.  28.  One  of 
the  noblest  lion's  manes  in  classical  art  is  that 
which,     severely     conventionalized,     clusters      in 


350  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

short  heavy  locks  round  the  head  of  that  master- 
piece of  the  monumental  style,  the  lion  from 
Cnidus  in  the  Elgin  room  at  the  British  Museum. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  voluminous  tangle  of  hair 
(favoured  by  some  modern  artists)  is  the  cheapest 
possible  method  of  securing  a  specious  air  of 
aesthetic  interest  for  a  figure.  In  his  Zeus  at 
Olympia,  Pheidias  avoided  the  temptation  of 
emphasising  the  famous  ambrosial  locks  of  the 
god,  and  the  head  of  the  statue,  as  it  appears 
upon  a  coin  of  Elis,^  exhibits  a  quiet  treatment 
of  the  hair  that  served  but  to  throw  into  stronger 
relief  that  immortal  brow,  on  which  sat  the  present 
majesty  of  the  king  of  gods  and  men. 

§  161.  The  general  artistic  result  of  these  Conventions 
of  Treatment. 

The  points  of  treatment  that  have  been  now 
briefly  reviewed  all  combine  to  produce  that 
monumental  appearance,  that  *  indescribable  re- 
moteness and  dignity'  (§  19)  which  is  the  primal 
effect  of  these  masterpieces  of  ancient  art.  As  a 
necessary  condition  of  formal  beauty  (§§  115  ff.) 
the  masses  are  composed  with  a  view  to  unity,  but 
this  bringing  together  of  the  lines  is  carried  so.  far 
as  to  produce  a  distinct  ethical  impression."  It 
results  in  the  suggestion  of  repose,  which  becomes 
the  most  significant  element  in  the  effect  of  the 
works  we  are  considering.  Repose  is  often  carried 
so  far  as  to  eliminate  what  the  ordinary  observer 
desiderates  as  *  expression.'  One  might  imagine 
the  Greeks  feeling  that  any  one  emotion  or  desire 
I  Gardner,  The  Tvpes  of  Greek  Coins,  Cambridge,  1883,  PI.  xv.  18. 


THE   PARTHENON   MARBLES  351 

if  strongly  accentuated  would  throw  the  figure,  so 
to  say,  off  its  balance,  and  draw  the  interest  of  the 
spectator  too  much  in  one  direction.  Hence  it 
was  not  emotion  itself,  but  rather  the  capability 
for  all  noble  emotion,  that  was  represented  in 
these  generalized  but  pregnant  shapes.  We  have 
already  noted  (§§  39  ff.)  that  a  large  part  of  the 
interest  of  the  great  Greek  statues  is  due  to  that  re- 
fined characterization  of  the  different  types,  which 
produced  'normal  images'  of  the  various  divine 
beings  peopling  the  Hellenic  Pantheon.  Here  in 
the  Parthenon  Marbles  the  artistic  genius  of  the 
people  for  once  went  beyond  even  this,  and  evolved 
types,  not  of  this  or  that  side  of  the  human  or 
divine  nature,  but  rather  of  idealized  humanity  at 
large.  The  particular  personages  represented  by 
the  figures  known  conventionally  as  the  Theseus 
or  the  Fates  are  unknown  to  us ;  as  Semper 
phrases  it,  *  the  gods  of  Pheidias  awaken  our  en- 
thusiasm first  and  before  all  things  as  expressions 
of  purely  human  beauty  and  greatness.'  ^  The 
danger  that  such  generalization  should  result  in 
emptiness  (§  44)  is  counteracted  in  this  case  by 
the  extraordinary  vigour  and  even  individual 
character  with  which  the  shapes  are  vitalized,  and 
which  led  Plutarch,  five  hundred  years  after  their 
creation,  to  claim  for  them  '  a  sort  of  bloom  of 
newness,  that  preserves  them  from  the  touch  of  ♦^ 
time,  as  if  they  had  some  perennial  spirit  and 
undecaying  life  mingled  in  their  composition.'^ 
To  the  general  effect  then  all  is  subordinated, 
and  this  is  accomplished  in  the  most  austere  spirit 

^  DerSlily  I.  p.  217,  note.  ^  Life  of  Pericles  y  §  13. 


352  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

of  self-restraint,  whereby  the  special  is  sunk  in 
the  general,  and  we  are  bidden  to  take  the  works 
as  a  whole  or  not  at  all. 

§  162.  SculpturescLue  Treatment  as  modified  in  later 
times. 

It  needs  hardly  to  be  said  that  the  severe  logic 
which  controlled  the  carvers  of  the  Periclean  age, 
and  kept  their  work  within  the  strictest  bounds  of 
the  sculpturesque,  was  notably  relaxed  in  the  later 
periods  of  classical  art.  In  the  Praxitelean  age, 
for  example,  there  is  more  play  of  texture,  more 
searching  into  such  natural  details  as  the  dimples 
and  waviness  of  drapery,  more  facial  expression, 
than  in  the  previous  century ;  while  a  vigorous 
naturalism,  uncontrolled  by  any  clear  vision  of  the 
ideal,  marks  the  still  later  period  of  the  Laocoon 
and  the  Farnese  Bull.  It  should  however  be 
noted  that,  in  spite  of  these  variations,  Greek 
sculpture  in  its  later  phases — as  illustrated  for 
example  in  the  Apoxyomenos  of  Lysippus  (Plate 
XIII) — preserves  all  the  essentials  of  the  monu- 
mental style  we  have  passed  in  review.  Renais- 
sance sculpture  in  the  round,  though  strongly 
tinged  by  a  certain  romantic  sentiment,  on  the 
whole  maintains  the  Hellenic  tradition,  while  a 
return  to  this  in  its  severer  form  marked  the 
sculpture  of  the  *  classical  revival '  which  ruled 
from  the  end  of  the  last  century  to  near  our  own 
time.  Of  this  phase  of  modern  sculpture  much 
the  same  may  be  said  as  about  neo-classic  archi- 
tecture. Condemned  as  '  cold  '  and  '  monotonous ' 
by  the  votary  of  the  picturesque,  it  yet  holds  its 


Plate  XIII.      To  face  p.  352. 
Apoxyomenos  (Athlete  using  the  Strigil)  in  the  Vatican. 


LATER   SCHOOLS  353 

ground  through  its  obedience  to  the  fundamental 
laws  of  the  plastic  art ;  while  some  of  its  repre- 
sentatives have  shown  that  it  is  possible  to 
re-vitalize  the  old  conventions,  and  to  produce 
works  at  once  classical  in  treatment  and  modern 
in  truth  and  intensity  of  feeling. 

These  later  phases  of  the  art  have  been  directly 
influenced  by  Greek  example,  but  the  same  prin- 
ciples have  appeared  also  in  force  where  no 
Hellenic  tradition  can  be  traced.  This  was  the 
case  in  medieval  days,  for  ethical  greatness  and  a 
high  degree  of  monumental  beauty  attach  to  the 
statues  that  animate  the  exteriors  of  French  Gothic 
cathedrals,  or  recline,  in  a  repose  that  has  won  a 
new  dignity  from  death,  on  English  tombs.^  The 
sculptors  of  these  had  not,  like  the  later  Italians 
and  moderns,  the  opportunity  of  studying  fine 
antiques,  and  the  fact  just  noticed  seems  to  show 
that  the  principles  in  question  are  of  universal 
validity — that  monumental  statuary,  wherever 
essayed,  must  accord  in  the  main  with  the  rules 
which  Greek  practice  has  made  canonical. 

^  The  sculptures  on  the  west  front  of  Chartres,  of  about  the  middle 
of  the  twelfth  century,  form  by  far  the  most  interesting  series,  but 
are  not  specially  classical  in  treatment.  What  is  said  in  the  text  is 
best  illustrated  at  Rheims,  by  the  Christ  of  the  north  transept  door, 
the  Christ  as  Pilgrim  on  the  upper  part  of  the  west  front,  the  ideal 
figure  of  the  Crowned  Church  on  the  south  transept ;  the  Mary  of  the 
Annunciation  of  the  central  portal,  and  the  male  figure  signalized  by 
VioUet-le-Duc  between  the  north  and  central  portals  of  the  fa9ade. 
It  is  to  be  noted  that  these  stately  and  refined  productions  date 
from  a  time  when  Italian  art  had  hardly  risen  from  barbarism. 
English  work  is  best  represented  by  Edward  II.  at  Gloucester, 
and  the  well-known  bronzes  of  Eleanor  and  Henry  III.  at  West- 
minster Abbey. 

Z 


354  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

The  foregoing  discussion  of  monumental  sculp- 
ture, as  it  was  understood  by  the  Greeks,  may 
correct  a  tendency  in  some  minds  to  regard  *  the 
antique'  as  a  bundle  of  worn-out  conventions 
abandoned  by  the  progressive  spirit  of  the  times. 
It  is  true  that  the  trend  of  modern  sculpture  is  not 
now  in  the  direction  of  the  monumental,  and  there 
is  indeed  no  greater  contrast  in  the  whole  range  of 
the  art  than  that  between  the  neo-classicworkof  fifty 
years  ago  and  that  which  now  attracts  the  atten- 
tion of  the  connoisseur  in  the  yearly  exhibitions. 
It  is  possible,  however,  fully  to  assimilate  the 
charm  of  the  most  characteristic  work  of  the  day 
without  allowing  the  judgment  to  be  led  captive. 
*  Modernitd '  in  sculpture,  finding  perhaps  its  chief 
source  of  inspiration  in  Rodin,  has  been  developed 
to  some  beautiful  results  in  continental  schools  as 
well  as  in  London  and  northern  Britain,  and  the 
gain  from  this  side  to  the  chief  artistic  exhibition 
of  the  British  metropolis  may  be  recognized  as 
a  recent  sign  of  national  progress  in  art.  The 
work  in  question  is  undoubtedly  influenced,  first 
by  the  sister  art  of  painting,  and  next  by  its  own 
material  and  technique.  As  influenced  by  paint- 
ing, it  is  impressionist,  in  that  it  depends  more 
on  the  single  view,  and  less  on  the  even  all-round 
effect;  is  more  expressive  and  less  serene  in  its 
breadth,  than  the  monumental  work  we  have  been 
considering.  Its  charm  resides  in  poetic  sugges- 
tion, sometimes  better  conveyed  by  a  sketch  than 
by  a  work  wrought  out  in  Hellenic  thoroughness  ; 
in  a  delicate  evanescent  grace  of  touch  ;  in  the 
subtle  line,  the  sensitive  almost  mobile  surface.    As 


MODERN   SCULPTURE  355 

in  the  painting  of  our  day,  so  in  its  sculpture,  the 
beauty  sought  for  is  not  the  clear-cut  formal  kind, 
but  rather  the  beauty  of  effect  discussed  in  §  121. 
When  the  qualities  on  which  this  beauty  depends 
are  at  their  best,  the  resulting  product,  compared 
with  any  of  the  Greek  works  figured  in  the  plates 
of  this  book,  is  like  a  play  of  Maeterlinck's  beside 
Samson  Agonistes.  Those  who  love  art  wisely 
will  not  ignore  the  latter  because  a  somewhat 
jaded  modern  taste  is  pleasantly  teased  by  the 
piquancy  and  illusiveness  of  the  first. 

The  influence  of  material  and  technique  shows 
itself  in  the  fashionable  picturesque  sculpture  of 
the  day  by  the  fact  that  it  is  essentially  clay 
sculpture,  taking  accidentally  the  outward  envelope 
of  bronze  or  marble.  The  Greeks  and  the  Italians 
were  of  course  familiar  with  modelled  work  in  clay, 
and  recognized  that  the  extreme  plasticity  of  the 
material  forced,  as  it  were,  on  the  artist  a  free  and 
varied  handling.  Such  works  were  then  fired  and 
became  *  terra  cotta,'  still  preserving  that  accor- 
dance between  material  and  style  of  treatment  so 
essential  to  fine  artistic  effect.  The  modern  sculp- 
tor of  the  picturesque  school  builds  up  his  figure 
in  the  true  *  clay '  style,  putting  it  together  bone 
by  bone,  muscle  by  muscle,  fold  by  fold  of  drapery, 
till  it  appears  before  us  in  completeness,  lean, 
angular,  naturalistic,  enlivened  by  accidents  of  sur- 
face that  may  impart  the  charm  described  above, 
but  may  also  at  times  serve  only  to  conceal  the 
poverty  or  even  ugliness  of  the  forms.  Such  work, 
achieved  as  terra-cotta,  preserves  all  its  charm, 
and  is  even  suitable  to  be  carried  out  on  a  small 


356  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

scale  in  bronze,  but  it  is  a  mistake  to  carve  it. 
Both  the  Greeks  and  Michelangelo  set  about  their 
stone  sculpture  on  a  totally  different  system.  They 
started  at  once  with  the  marble,  that  is  with  the 
mass,  and  slowly,  stroke  by  stroke,  disengaged 
from  out  the  mass  the  beautiful  form  that  lay  hid 
within  it  waiting  for  release.  To  the  end  the  mass 
architecturally  shaped  and  treated,  was  the  funda- 
mental element  in  the  effect,  and  this  imparts  to 
the  work  that  large  and  majestic  appearance  which 
in  so  much  modern  modelling  is  sacrified  to  im- 
pressionist effect. 


§  163.  Sculpture  in  Belief,  its  different  kinds. 


i 


The  conventions  of  sculpture  in  relief  might 
furnish  themes  for  a  volume  rather  than  a  portion 
of  a  chapter.  Even  among  the  ancients  it  was  of 
several  kinds,  so  distinct  as  to  suggest  wholly 
different  origins,  while  in  the  modern  world  the 
extension  of  the  bounds  of  this  particular  form  of 
art  in  the  direction  of  pictorial  effect  has  been  so 
marked,  that  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  say  where 
its  limits  ought  to  be  fixed.  The  best  account  of 
Greek  practice  is  that  contained  in  Sir  Charles 
Eastlake's  essay  on  '  Basso-Rilievo,'  in  his  Contri- 
butions to  the  Literature  of  the  Fine  Arts^  though 
his  austere  classicism  rejects  entirely  the  modifica- 
tions in  relief  introduced  by  the  Italians,  which 
yet  demand  attentive  study.  In  Greek  practice 
Eastlake  has  indicated  three  kinds  of  relief,  called 
by  the  modern  terms  '  alto-,'  '  mezzo-,'  and  '  basso- 


VARIOUS    KINDS   OF   RELIEF  357 

rilievo/  Of  these  basso-rilievo  he  describes  as 
that  kind  of  low  relief  in  which  the  outline  is 
marked  by  being  cut  sharply  down  to  the  ground 
all  round,  while  the  modelling  within  the  outline 
is  very  slight  indeed.^  In  the  second  kind,  or 
mezzo-rilievo,  the  forms  are  modelled  up  gradually 
from  the  ground  till  they  reach  the  height  deter- 
mined on,  and  then  sink  gradually  to  the  ground 
on  the  other  side.  In  alto-rilievo  the  forms 
stand  out  with  the  utmost  boldness ;  they  are 
sometimes  fully  modelled  as  in  the  round  and 
even  detached  from  the  background  plane.  At  a 
glance  it  can  be  seen  that  these  three  kinds  of 
relief  give  the  impression  of  distinct  origins  and 
traditions.  In  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon  the 
starting-point  has  been  the  flat  surface  of  the  slabs 
forming  part  of  the  cella-wall.  On  this  the 
design  was  drawn  out  and  then  cut  down  to  a 
certain  depth  into  the  thickness  of  the  marble. 
It  is  all  pure  chisel-work — the  work  of  the  mason. 
Middle  relief,  which  occurs  very  commonly  in  the 
decoration  of  marble  vases,  candelabra-bases  and 

*  One  may  note  here  that  bas-relief,  in  the  sense  understood  by 
Eastlake,  is  represented  by  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon  from  which 
he  draws  all  his  examples,  but  this  is  by  no  means  a  usual  style  of 
work.  The  relief  only  appears  low  in  comparison  with  the  great 
extent  of  the  work  and  the  flatness  of  the  internal  modelling,  and 
small  reliefs  constantly  show  a  much  flatter  treatment.  For  example 
the  reliefs  on  the  chair  of  the  Priest  of  Dionysus  in  the  Theatre  at 
Athens,  of  which  a  cast  is  in  the  Elgin  room  at  the  British  Museum, 
are  in  true  low  relief,  and  this  might  furnish  us  with  a  fourth  kind  to 
add  to  Eastlake's  three.  The  Italians  of  the  great  period  used  the 
term  '  stiacciato '  for  this  very  low  relief,  and  the  three  kinds  de- 
scribed by  Vasari  are  stiacciato,  basso-rilievo,  and  mezzo-rilievo, 
which  last  includes  all  the  higher  kinds  of  relief  up  to  complete 
detachment  from  ihe  ground.     (Vasari  on  Technique^  p.  154 f.) 


358  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

the  like,  suggests  in  its  softly-rounded  masses  a 
form  beaten  up  out  of  sheet-metal  according  to  a 
technical  practice  exceedingly  popular  in  early 
times,  while  high  relief,  such  as  that  on  the  Giant 
frieze  from  Pergamon  at  Berlin,  looks  like  work  in 
the  round  that  has,  for  decorative  reasons,  been 
placed  in  an  architectural  niche  or  against  a  flat 
wall,  but  still  keeps  much  of  the  feeling  of  the 
completed  statue.^ 

§  164.  The  Conventions  of  Sculpture  in  Relief,  as 
established  by  the  Greeks. 

In  dealing  now  with  some  of  the  chief  conventions 
recognized  by  the  Greeks  when  working  in  relief, 
let  us  take  first,  as  a  typical  example  of  the  style, 
the  already  quoted  frieze  of  the  Parthenon,  and 
leaving  out  of  sight  for  the  moment  its  excellence 
in  composition,  its  life,  its  variety,  and  its  masterly 
execution,  inquire  only  about  its  technical  relief 
treatment.  In  the  primary  matter,  the  actual 
putting  of  the  figures  into  relief  the  treatment  is 
based  generally  upon  a  convention  which  had 
been  established  thousands  of  years  earlier  in 
Egypt,  and  employed  both  in  drawing  and  sculp- 
ture. It  is  really  the  old-fashioned  graphic 
convention  of  the  ancient  world,  which  appears  on 
old  oriental  monuments  as  well  as  in  Greek  vase- 
paintings,  and  arises  from  the  habit,  as  strong  in 
the  ancient  world  as  among  ourselves,  of  the 
designer  drawing  not  what  he  sees  but  what  he 
^  knows.       The    ancient    draughtsman    would    not 

^  How  far  these  impressions  are  justified  will  be  considered  in  the 
sequel. 


I 


CONVENTIONS   OF   RELIEF  359 

delineate  the  figure  as  he  saw  it,  with  some  parts 
concealing  others,  but  strove  to  exhibit  at  once  all 
the  parts  that  he  knew  it  to  possess,  and  twisted 
it  mercilessly  in  the  process.  Thus  the  feet  and 
legs  were  shown  in  profile,  one  a  little  in  advance 
of  the  other,  but  the  body  and  shoulders  were 
given  full-face  as  in  this  view  they  would  be  better 
seen.  The  head  again  is  in  profile,  while  finally 
the  eye  is  represented  in  full-face  view.  Now  the 
designer  of  the  Parthenon  frieze  took  this  well- 
known  practice  as  the  basis  of  his  work,  intro- 
ducing such  modifications  as  were  suggested  by 
improved  artistic  taste  and  knowledge  of  nature. 
His  guiding  principle  may  be  formulated  thus  : 
Before  putting  an  object  into  relief  choose  the 
flattest  view^  and  pose  and  turn  a  figure  even  at 
some  gentle  violence  to  nature  so  as  to  secure  the 
utmost  flatness  of  effect.  In  obedience  to  this 
principle  horses  and  horsed  chariots  were  of  course 
treated  in  profile  and  the  feet  of  moving  figures  in 
profile,  while  in  the  case  of  a  leg  seen  in  front 
view,  to  avoid  the  projection  of  the  foot,  the  heel 
was  raised  from  the  ground,  and  the  foot  extended 
so  as  to  bring  it  into  the  same  line  with  the  tibia. 
And  further,  among  the  extant  figures  or  remains 
of  figures  on  the  Parthenon  frieze,  which  roughly 
enumerated  number  about  two  hundred  and  ten, 
seventy,  or  a  proportion  of  one-third  will  be  found 
to  exhibit  the  form  specially  posed  and  turned, 
sometimes  at  some  violence  to  nature,  with  this 
intent.^  A  large  number  of  others  have  the  torso 
only  partly  turned  to  the  front,  the  rest  of  the 
1  e.g.  West  frieze,  27, 


36o  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

body  being  in  profile,^  while  in  some  cases  there  is 
practically  no  such  turning  of  part  of  the  form  to 
suit  the  relief,  but  the  torso  is  as  much  in  profile 
as  the  head  and  lower  limbs.^ 

The  unprejudiced  observer  will  have  little 
difficulty  in  deciding  that  the  first  kind  of  figures 
are  really  the  most  artistically  pleasing,  and  the 
reason  of  this  is  that  they  conform  best  to  the 
primary  canon  of  all  sculpture  already  noticed — 
the  principle  that  sculpture  is  an  art  which  clearly  \ 
displays  what  it  offers  to  the  view.  Graphic  art ' 
may  suggest^  but  sculpture  shows.  Hence  the  eye 
demands  from  the  latter  as  full  a  display  as 
possible,  and  is  uneasy  if  asked  to  take  too  much 
for  granted.  The  figures  of  the  frieze  in  which, 
as  they  march  forward  in  profile,  the  further 
shoulder  is  not  seen  at  all — though  they  are 
valuable  as  introducing  an  element  of  variety — 
are  not  so  satisfactory  from  the  sculpturesque  point 
of  view  as  those  where  the  torso  is  turned  to  the 
front.  This  convention  of  a  flat  rendering  of  the 
figure  was  so  universally  recognized  by  the  Greeks, 
that  it  was  carried  through  all  styles  of  relief,  and 
not  confined  to  the  low  style  only.  In  the  metopes 
of  the  Parthenon,  of  which  specimens  are  shown  in 
Plates  XIV  and  XV,  and  in  the  Giant  frieze  from 
Pergamon — the  two  finest  classical  examples  of 
high  or  alto  relief — there  is  the  same  careful  selec- 
tion of  poses  which  bring  the  figures  into  flat  planes. 

^  e.g.  The  draped  female  figures  at  each  end  of  the  east  frieze. 

2  2  and  32,  north  frieze,  and  11  west  frieze,  are  good  examples. 
The  numbers  quoted  are  those  on  the  top  of  the  black  framing  in 
the  British  Museum. 


MISTAKES   IN   RELIEF  TREATMENT       361 

The  importance  of  this  primary  convention  of 
relief  treatment  is  often  neglected  by  the  modern 
student  in  our  schools  of  art. 

Too  often  is  it  the  case  there  that  the  modelling 
student  plants  himself  down  with  board  and  clay 
in  any  place  where  a  gap  may  be  open  to  him  in 
the  ring,  and  there  proceeds  to  make  a  relief 
study  from  the  living  model,  without  ascertaining 
first  whether  the  pose  from  that  view,  or  from  any 
view,  really  admits  of  being  rendered  in  relief. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  relief  studies  from 
antiques  in  the  round,  which  are  often  attempted 
by  students  under  conditions  where  success  is 
impossible.  Some  antiques  go  well  enough  into 
relief,  such  as  the  Discobolus  of  Myron,  or  any 
work  where  the  pose  is  either  upright  or  bends 
like  the  latter  in  one  direction  only,  but  the 
Hermes  at  the  end  of  the  Greco-Roman  gallery  in 
the  British  Museum  is  a  bad  selection,  because  the 
charm  of  the  figure  consists  in  the  graceful  lateral 
contours  combined  with  the  expressive  bend 
forward  of  the  head.  The  relief  can  give  the 
lateral  contours,  but  to  represent  the  bend  of  the 
head  this  must  be  brought  forward  out  of  the 
plane  of  the  rest  of  the  body,  and  the  feeling  of  a 
classical  relief  is  sacrificed. 

From  this  preference  on  the  part  of  the  Greeks 
for  poses  which  bring  the  figures  into  flat  planes, 
there  is  developed  a  further  consequence  that 
must  be  noticed  as  another  important  convention 
of  sculpture  in  relief  This  convention  consists  in 
keeping  all  parts  as  far  as  possible  towards  the 
foremost  plane^  or  in  other  words  minimizing  the 


362  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

difference  between  the  nearer  and  more  remote 
portions  of  the  object.  The  effort  of  the  Greeks  to 
compass  this — not  of  course  so  apparent  when  the 
whole  work  is  flat — is  very  conspicuous  in  good 
examples  of  alto-  and  mezzo-rilievo.  They  avoid 
rendering  one  part  of  the  figure  or  object  in 
full  relief  while  another  is  almost  sunk  into  the 
background.  In  the  Parthenon  and  other  metopes 
this  may  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  sculp- 
ture was  recessed  in  a  sort  of  box  with  the  pro- 
jections of  the  triglyphs  on  each  side  and  the 
corona  above,  so  that  the  figures  had  as  it  were  to 
come  forward  to  the  edge  of  their  shelf  in  order 
to  be  properly  seen,  but  the  reason  is  a  deeper 
one.  It  was  the  old  feeling  for  breadth^  which, 
simplifying  as  it  does  the  composition  of  the 
public^  monument  in  the  round,  also  aims  at 
securing  clearness  in  the  impression  of  the  relief. 
The  difference  in  the  aspect  of  a  nearer  limb,  fully 
relieved  in  all  its  light-and-shade  and  modelling, 
and  the  corresponding  member  almost  lost  in  the 
background,  was  too  great.  The  eye  could  not 
take  them  in  as  parts  of  the  same  whole  at  that 
first  glance  which  is  the  truest  measure  of  the 
work  of  art.  Hence  a  greater  unity  of  effect  was 
secured  by  bringing  into  prominence  all  portions 
of  the  more  remote  side  of  the  figure  which  could 
conveniently  be  emphasised.  This  rule  holds 
good  both  in  alto-  and  mezzo-rilievo  and  can 
be  verified  by  any  one  in  the  galleries  of  the 
British  Museum  or  in  the  collections  of  casts  from 
the  antique  at  South  Kensington  and  elsewhere. 
Again,  this  keeping  forward  of  all  parts  of  the 


THE   PARTHENON   METOPES  363 

object  really  means  the  abandonment  of  fore- 
shortening, which  is  a  device  to  be  avoided  in 
relief  treatment.  The  Greeks  sometimes  tried  it 
but  seldom  with  happy  effect.  In  the  friezes  from 
the  Theseum  and  from  Phigaleia,  represented  in 
cast  and  in  original  at  the  British  Museum,  there 
is  a  fallen  Centaur  with  his  human  body  fore- 
shortened towards  the  spectator,  but  the  passage 
is  ineffective,  and  served  no  doubt  as  a  lesson  to 
the  Greek  sculptors  that  such  attempts  must  end 
in  failure. 

Other  points  of  treatment,  having  the  same  aim 
of  clearness,  are  so  ably  dealt  with  in  Sir  Charles 
Eastlake's  Essay  that  a  reference  thereto  will 
suffice.  He  shows,  for  example,  how  in  the  Par- 
thenon frieze  the  sharp  outlining  of  the  composition 
was  designed  to  give  it  clearness  of  delineation 
upon  the  flat  background,  and  how  careful  were 
the  Greeks  in  alto-rilievo  to  avoid  crossing  the 
limbs,  or  throwing  an  arm  across  the  body,  so  that 
an  accidental  and  confusing  shadow  would  be 
cast.  The  effective  shadow  was  that  cast  by  the 
mass  of  the  composition  on  the  ground,  and 
nothing  was  suffered  to  interfere  with  this,  the 
mass  being  so  treated  as  to  tell  out  in  light. 

The  Parthenon  metopes  are  superb  examples 
of  effect  in  high  relief  secured  by  adherence  to  the 
principles  here  rehearsed,  and  they  illustrate  so 
well  certain  points  in  artistic  treatment  already 
touched  on  that  a  moment  may  be  spent  upon 
the  two  shown  in  Plates  XIV  and  XV.  The 
comparison  between  these  is  instructive  because 
the   first  is   decidedly  inferior   in  treatment,  and 


364  CONVENTIONS  OF  SCULPTURE 

exhibits  the  designer  struggling  with  difficulties 
which  the  artist  of  No.  XV  has  triumphantly 
overcome.  In  both  cases  a  Hero  and  a  Centaur 
are  at  death-grips,  but  whereas  in  No.  XIV  the 
two  stand  tamely  opposite  each  other  and  in  a 
somewhat  ungainly  manner  thrust  out  opposing 
arms  and  legs,  in  No.  XV  they  come  together  in 
the  composition  as  one,  and  form  a  single 
pyramidal  mass.  Note  how  in  the  freer  work 
the  drapery  is  used  to  fill  up  awkward  spaces  and 
mass  the  forms,  while  in  the  other,  where  drapery 
is  absent,  there  is  a  bareness  and  poverty  of  effect. 
The  following  principles  or  canons  of  sculpture 
in  relief  seem  accordingly  to  evolve  themselves 
from  Greek  practice,  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  the 
necessary  conditions  of  the  sculptor's  art.  Choose^ 
and  if  necessary  secure  by  posing^  flatness  of  aspect 
in  the  model.  Bring  all  parts  more  or  less  up  to 
the  same  level  so  that  the  design  tells  as  a  whole 
against  the  background.  Avoid  foreshortening^ 
accidental  shadows  within  the  design^  and  every- 
thing which  impairs  the  clearness  of  effect. 

§  165.  Belief  Treatment  as  influenced  by  Materials  and 
Processes  :  Greek  and  Italian  Techniqiue. 

The  practice  of  the  Greeks  is  sometimes  ex- 
plained by  saying  that  they  had  always  in  their 
mind  two  planes,  one  the  plane  of  the  back- 
ground, and  another  so  many  inches  in  front  of  it, 
according  to  the  height  of  relief  desired  ;  and 
while  the  limit  of  this  second  imaginary  plane  was 
never  exceeded,  as  much  of  the  subject  as  possible 
was  brought  up  to  it.     The  remark  is  true,  but  in 


>     ^      >     > 


»    •  •   >: 


>»»-».  • 


Plate  XIV.       Between  pages  364  and  365. 
Metope  from  the  Parthenon,  showing  traces  of  archaism. 


Platk  XV.       Between  pages  364  and  365. 
Metope  from  the  Parthenon,  free  style 


RELIEF  TECHNIQUE  365 

a  sense  not  always  understood  by  those  who 
repeat  it.  The  Greeks  had  such  a  plane,  but  it 
was  not  second  or  imaginary ^  but  primaTy  and  real. 
As  they  would  cut  their  reliefs  out  of  the  marble 
by  the  aid  of  drawings  and  small  studies  without 
full-size  clay  models,  this  plane  would  be  in  reality 
the  original  surface  from  which  they  cut  down  to 
the  required  depth,  constituting  there  a  parallel 
plane  for  the  background.  This  technique  would 
certainly  result  in  the  characteristics  of  a  Greek 
relief,  for  nothing  could  surpass  the  supposed  outer 
boundary  since  this  is  the  actual  starting-place  of 
the  whole  work :  whereas  if  the  relief  began  with 
the  background  and  were  constituted  by  the 
addition,  piece  by  piece,  of  plastic  clay,  many  more 
varieties  in  depth  would  show  themselves,  and 
portions  would  infallibly  exhibit  a  tendency  to 
project  beyond  sober  limits. 

Here  we  see  the  importance  of  the  influence 
which  material  and  technique  exercise  on  relief 
treatment,  for  it  is  from  these  that  we  can  in  part 
explain  the  extraordinary  contrast  between  the 
reliefs  of  the  Greeks,  and  Italian  reliefs  in  the  style 
of  Ghiberti  and  Donatello.  When  the  Greeks 
wanted  a  relief  in  metal  they  beat  it  up  out  of  a 
sheet  of  silver,  gold,  or  bronze.  So  tractable  is 
sheet-metal,  that  it  is  possible  to  secure  in  the 
raised  forms  considerable  boldness  of  projection, 
and  even  sharp  under-cutting,  such  as  are  shown 
in  certain  bravura  works  of  the  later  classical 
period.^      In   oriental    art,  however,  and    that   of 

1  For  example,  the  Bronzes  from  Siris  (British  Museum)  and  some 
silver  reliefs  in  the  Hildesheim  treasure  at  Berlin. 


366  CONVENTIONS   OF   SCULPTURE 

early  classical  times,  the  relief  is  always  low.*  On 
the  other  hand,  the  characteristic  Italian  reliefs, 
such  as  those  on  the  Old  Testament  Gate  of 
Ghiberti,  or  on  the  font  of  the  Baptistry  at  Siena, 
or  those  from  the  life  of  St.  Anthony  at  Padua  by 
Donatello,  were  in  cast  bronze^  a  material  not  em- 
ployed by  the  ancients  for  such  work  except  in 
the  small  decorative  details  of  objects  of  industrial 
art.  With  the  Italian  the  metal  is  as  it  were  an 
afterthought ;  the  forms  are  modelled  up  in  clay  or 
wax  by  successive  additions,  and  these  additions, 
so  easy  and  ready  to  the  hand,  naturally  tempt 
the  worker  beyond  the  strict  limits  which  the  more 
direct  technique  would  have  imposed  on  him. 

That  he  was  only  too  ready  to  yield  to  the 
temptation  in  question  was  due  to  causes 
lying  at  the  root  of  Italian  art  activity,  which 
have  been  indicated  already  in  the  chapter  on 
Medieval  Florence  and  her  Painters.  The  Italian 
sculptors  of  the  fifteenth  century  were  eager  to 
extend  to  the  furthest  the  boundaries  of  their  art, 
so  as  to  make  it  match  the  complexity  and  variety 
of  that  external  world  in  which  they  took  so  vivid 
an  interest.  The  rigid  limits  within  which  the 
Greeks  had  confined  their  representations  no 
longer  satisfied  the  quattrocentisti,  and  they 
modified  in  many  remarkable  respects  the  canons 
of  Greek  relief  treatment.  A  few  sentences  on 
the  history  of  relief  from  the  great  period  of 
Greek  art  onwards  will  be  necessary  for  clearness. 

^  As  in  the  Assyrian  Bronze  Gates  from  Balawat  (British  Museum) 
and  the  reliefs — originally  in  gold — on  the  Shield  of  the  Athene 
Parthenos  by  Pheidias. 


LATER  STYLES   OF   RELIEF  367 

In  the  Hellenistic  period  and  under  the  early- 
Roman  Empire,  by  the  side  of  the  severely  archi- 
tectural relief  there  grew  up  a  style  of  relief  of  a 
more  pictorial  kind,  in  which  various  objects  were 
introduced  beside  the  chief  actors,  and  back- 
grounds with  trees  and  other  natural  features  were 
also  added,  'the  aim  being  to  produce  in  sculpture 
a  representation  of  landscape  and  figures  in  the 
spirit  of  a  painter.'^  In  these  reliefs  an  action  is 
represented  in  the  foreground,  with  animals,  a 
tree-stem,  pieces  of  furniture  etc.  grouped  around, 
while  above  these  may  be  the  conventional  repre- 
sentation of  a  rock  or  the  long  fagade  and  part  of 
the  front  of  a  temple.  There  is  no  real  attempt 
to  represent  different  planes  of  distance ;  every- 
thing is  on  a  level,  but  there  is  a  distinct  effort  at 
enlivening  the  field  of  the  action  with  various 
subsidiary  objects.  This  style  of  relief  was 
adopted  by  the  makers  of  carved  sarcophagi  in 
the  late  classical  period,  where  we  find  com- 
positions greatly  overcrowded  with  figures  and 
backgrounds  filled  in  with  natural  objects. 

It  was  on  these  sarcophagus-reliefs  that  the 
carvers  of  the  twelfth  century  in  Provence,  and  after 
them  the  early  Pisan  sculptors,  formed  their  style, 
and  hence  came  the  crowded  compositions  of  the 
famous  pulpits  of  Niccola  and  Giovanni  Pisano 
(reproduced  at  South  Kensington).  On  the  other 
hand  early  Italian  work  shows  at  times  true 
sculpturesque  feeling,  of  a  kind  akin  to  that  of 
the  Greeks,  and  was  possibly  inspired  (though  we 

^Thodor  Schreiber,  die  Hdlenistischen  Reliefbilder^  Leipzig,  1889, 
Introduction.     Mrs.  Strong,  Roman  Sculpiure,  London,  1907. 


368  CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

cannot  trace  a  direct  connection)  by  the  French 
Gothic  sculpture  that  preceded  the  Italian  revival. 
Of  this  order  are  many  of  the  reliefs  on  the 
Campanile  of  Giotto  at  Florence,  as  well  as  the 
simpler  scenes  and  single  figures  on  the  earliest 
gate  of  the  Baptistry  by  Andrea  Pisano,  which 
look  like  French  work  carried  somewhat  further 
in  composition  and  detail.  It  was  when  per- 
spective was  introduced  early  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  the  sphere  of  graphic  delineation 
was  greatly  widened,  that  Italian  relief  treat- 
ment began  to  show  those  peculiar  features  that 
have  made  it  so  influential  in  modern  practice. 
The  aim  of  Ghiberti  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  to  transport  the  receding  plane,  established 
under  the  influence  of  perspective  as  the  field  of 
the  picture,  into  the  domain  of  sculpture,  and  to 
display  as  many  groups  and  objects  as  possible 
on  different  parts  of  it.  To  quote  his  own  words 
in  his  Commentaries :  *  The  panels  of  the  gate 
were  very  copious  in  figures  ...  in  which  I  set 
myself  to  imitate  nature  to  the  furthest  point 
possible  and  with  the  greatest  number  of  figures 
that  could  be  introduced  .  .  .  there  is  relief  of 
the  very  lowest  kind,  and  on  the  different  planes 
the  figures  that  are  nearer  the  spectator  are  made 
larger  and  the  more  remote  ones  smaller.  .  .  .'^ 

§  166.  The  innovations  of  Ghiberti  examined :  their 
influence  on  Modem  Sculpture. 

Ghiberti's   reliefs   are  too   well  known  to  need 
description  here,  and  the  well-worn  criticisms  on 
1  Vasari,  ed.  Le  Monnier,  i.  p.  xxxiv. 


INFLUENCE   OF   GHIBERTI  369 

them  need  hardly  be  repeated.  The  question 
which  he  may  be  said  to  have  propounded, 
How  far  may  the  sculptor  go  in  representing 
planes  of  distance  in  relief,  is  one  that  since  his 
time  has  been  often  discussed  and  illustrated  both 
in  words  and  works.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
the  sculptor  Falconet,  while  recognizing  the 
supremacy  of  the  Greeks  in  monumental  work 
in  the  round,  claims  the  right  of  the  modern 
sculptor  to  advance  beyond  the  limits  set  by 
them  for  relief  Why  should  not  the  sculptor, 
he  asks,  follow  the  painter  in  his  effects?  The 
answer  is  that  the  laws  of  an  art  are  not  penal  laws 
and  no  one  is  bound  to  observe  them  unless  he 
likes,  but  that,  at  the  same  time,  the  nature  of 
different  materials  and  processes  suggests  certain 
limits  that  the  worker  oversteps  at  his  peril.  The 
painter  has  at  his  command  linear  and  aerial 
perspective,  through  the  aid  of  which  he  can 
represent  distance  in  the  most  perfect  manner. 
The  sculptor,  whose  material  is  all  of  the  same 
colour,  has  practically  no  aerial  perspective  at  his 
command.  He  can,  like  Ghiberti,  throw  his  work 
into  linear  perspective,  sloping  up  his  ground, 
introducing  buildings  etc.  perspectively  drawn, 
and  reducing  the  scale  of  his  figures  in  the  back- 
ground ;  but  he  cannot  make  us  forget  the  rigid 
wall  which  we  know  bounds  his  scene  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  inches,  nor  can  he  bathe  the 
small  figures  of  the  background,  as  the  painter 
can,  in  air,  so  that  they  look  really  remote. 
Falconet  indeed  recommends  that  the  figures  on 
the  second  plane  should  not  be  modelled  *  d'une 

2  A 


370      THE   CONVENTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE 

touche  aussi  ferme,  que  celles  du  premier/  in 
order  to  suit  '  la  degradation  que  la  distance,  Tair 
et  notre  oeil  mettent  naturellement  entre  nous  et 
les  objets,'^  claiming  that  *  le  vague  et  Tind^cis  de 
la  touche,  joints  a  la  proportion  diminude  selon 
les  regies  de  la  perspective '  will  give  the  effect  of 
aerial  perspective  required ;  and  in  fact  on 
Ghiberti's  panels  we  may  see  sharp  foreground 
touches  contrasting  with  the  softer  more  un- 
certain contours  of  objects  intended  to  look  more 
remote. 

In  this  way  the  Florentine  could  fill  his 
panel  with  a  '  story,'  in  which  as  he  boasts  there 
were  sometimes  a  hundred  figures,  and  as  his 
feeling  for  composition  and  grace  of  form  was 
exceptionally  acute,  the  result  is  in  itself  very 
lovely.  We  can  understand  how  Michelangelo, 
though  he  wrote  once  that  he  held  '  that  kind  of 
relief  the  worst  which  went  furthest  in  the  direction 
of  painting,'^  could  yet  say  of  the  Old  Testament 
gates  that  they  were  worthy  to  be  the  doors  of 
Paradise,  but  it  is  rather  the  result  of  Ghiberti's 
innovation  on  less  finely  gifted  sculptors  of  his 
own  and  later  times  that  we  have  to  consider,  and 
this  influence  has  been  little  short  of  disastrous. 
To  it  we  owe  the  later  Italian  reliefs  (represented 
in  over-abundance  at  the  South  Kensington 
Museum)  in  which  the  studied  composition  of 
Ghiberti  disappears,  and  the  field  is  filled  with 
a  crowd  of  figures  and  horses,  jostling  each  other 
in    a    confusion   which   is  lively  enough,  but  far 

1  CBuvres,  Paris,  1808,  ill,  p.  35. 
^Bottari,  Raccolta  di  LetterCt  i.  p.  9. 


MODERN   PICTORIAL  RELIEFS  371 

from  sculpturesque ;  and,  in  continuance  of  the 
same  practice,  the  modern  pictorial  relief,  in  which 
an  effort  is  made  to  find  the  limits  of  relief  treat- 
ment, not  so  much  in  the  matter  of  perspective, 
as  in  the  effect  of  suggestion  gained  by  a  studied 
indefiniteness  of  modelling.  With  regard  to  these 
and  other  modern  experiments  in  plastic  treat- 
ment, nothing  more  can  be  said  here  than  was 
remarked  about  sculpture  in  the  round — in 
monumental  work  the  conventions  established  by 
the  Greeks  must  still  be  recognized  as  valid, 
though  in  lighter  phases  of  the  art  the  sculptor 
may  claim  to  exercise  in  freedom  his  gift  for 
the  unexpected,  the  piquant,  and  the  picturesque. 


CHAPTER  III 

PAINTING  OLD  AND  NEW 

§  167.  The  Limitations  of  Fresco  Practice 

If  the  pages  already  devoted  to  Florentine  paint- 
ing afford  anything  like  a  true  idea  of  the  work  of 
the  frescoist  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the  reader  will 
readily  perceive  that  the  sphere  of  painting  could 
be  enlarged  far  beyond  the  bounds  he  recognized. 
Such  enlargement  was  now  to  come,  and  it  took 
effect  both  in  extending  the  field  of  painting  and 
in  intensifying  its  practice.  It  was  stated  above 
(§72)  that  however  the  modern  critic  may  regard 
the  old  decorative  frescoes,  the  Florentine  himself 
seems  chiefly  to  have  delighted  in  them  for  their 
life-like  character  as  exact  representations  of 
nature.  It  is  true  that  Vasari  rightly  praises 
Ghirlandajo  for  simplifying  his  compositions  and 
discarding  a  good  deal  of  the  padding  and  frippery 
delighted  in  by  second-rate  designers,  and  recog- 
nizes thereby  that  painting  is  a  matter  of  style 
rather  than  delineation  ;  but  nevertheless,  like  the 
rest  of  his  countrymen,  Vasari  is  ready  to  worship 


IMITATION    OF   NATURE   IN    FRESCOES    373 

some  well-observed  piece  of  foreshortening,  some 
touch  of  nature  in  the  action  of  a  bystander.  *  I 
painted  and  my  painting  was  as  life  *  runs  the  first 
lines  of  a  certain  epitaph  for  Masaccio,  expressing 
tersely  the  Florentine  ideal,  and  on  this  it  must 
now  be  remarked  that  the  aim  was  one  which  under 
the  conditions  of  the  craft  could  not  be  fully  carried 
out.  The  fresco  was  and  could  be  only  to  a  very 
limited  extent  like  nature.  It  was  near  enough  to 
nature  to  remind  the  quick-witted  Italian  of  some- 
thing he  had  seen  in  the  everyday  life  of  the 
streets  or  in  a  festal  rappresentazione,  but  it 
could  not  be  like  nature,  in  the  sense  in  which  this 
is  possible  in  a  modern  picture,  for  two  sufficient 
reasons,  (i)  If  the  fresco  remained,  as  it  was  in 
its  origin  and  in  its  essence,  a  form  of  mural 
decoration,  it  could  not  suitably  represent  different 
planes  of  distance,  nor  throw  objects  into  strong 
relief  by  light-and-shade,  for  this  would  contradict 
the  flatness  of  the  wall,  and  decoration  cannot  be 
right  if  it  contradict  construction.  (2)  As  the 
process  was  rapid,  and  where  possible  completed 
at  a  sitting,  the  painter  could  not  search  into  the 
subtleties  of  changing  tints  and  shadows  in  nature, 
but  had  to  be  content  to  summarize.  Now  the 
face  of  the  world  actually  presents  itself  not  as  an 
upright  slice,  but  as  a  horizontal  plane  stretching 
away  to  infinite  distance,  and  that  which  gives  to 
objects  their  place  and  reality  on  that  plane  at 
different  degrees  of  remoteness,  is  the  atmosphere 
which  envelopes  them  and  determines  their  light- 
and-shade.  In  other  words,  without  perspective 
and  chiaroscuro  nature  cannot  be  adequately  re- 


374  PAINTING   OLD   AND    NEW 

presented,  and  with   perspective   and   chiaroscuro 
mural  decoration  has  no  call  to  concern  itself. 

§  168.  The  first  stages  of  the  advance :  Linear 
Perspective ; 

The  enlargement  and  intensifying  which  the  art 
of  painting  underwent  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  carried  it  far  beyond  the  decorative 
sphere,  and  it  became  in  all  essentials  another  art 
with  aims  and  conditions  of  its  own.  This  change 
from  Old  to  New  Painting  begins  soon  after  the 
year  1400,  and  a  certain  period  of  transition  is 
marked  by  the  introduction,  early  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  of  the  effects  of  linear  perspective  into 
mural  painting  in  fresco. 

This,  as  we  have  just  seen,  was  from  the  decora- 
tive point  of  view  the  very  negation  of  the  art,  but 
on  the  other  hand,  the  introduction  of  perspective 
effected  an  emancipation  of  painting  from  those 
bonds  in  which  the  logic  of  decoration  would  have 
confined  it.  It  gained  therefrom  ultimately  far 
more  than  it  lost,  for  after  a  time  it  ceased  in  its 
most  important  forms  to  be  a  decorative  art  at  all, 
and  became,  in  the  modern  cabinet  picture,  an  art 
of  independent  expression.  For  a  time  however 
the  contradiction  just  noticed  ruled  in  the  art ; 
through  its  perspective  effects  it  ceased  to  be 
strictly  decorative,  yet  it  still  clung  to  the  wall, 
dependence  upon  which  seemed  an  essential  con- 
dition of  its  existence. 

The  revolution,  which  was  being  prepared  for 
the  art  of  painting  through  the  invention  of 
perspective,    is     prefigured     in     the     book     by 


MURAL   PAINTING  AND   PERSPECTIVE    375 

Leon  Battista  Alberti  of  Florence  entitled  De 
Pictura  libri  tres  and  given  to  the  public  about 
1436.  A  large  portion  of  this  book  is  occupied 
with  the  new  science  which  Brunelleschi,  Dona- 
tello,  Alberti  and  others  were  at  that  time  engaged 
in  perfecting,  and  stories  in  Vasari  bring  vividly 
before  us  the  intensity  with  which  they  threw 
themselves  into  the  study.  *  Oh  che  dolce  cosa  e 
questa  Prospettiva ' !  was  the  exclamation  of  Paolo 
Uccello  of  Florence,  as  he  stood  at  his  desk,  some- 
where between  midnight  and  dawn,  while  his 
shivering  spouse  was  imploring  him  to  come  and 
take  some  rest  in  bed.  *  O  how  sweet  a  thing ' 
was  that  Perspective  to  those  to  whom  it  was  not 
a  series  of  cut  and  dried  puzzles,  but  an  actual 
weapon  and  tool  for  work  almost  miraculous  in  its 
potency.  To  the  men  who  themselves  found  out 
the  relations  and  formulae  on  which  perspective 
depends,  these  had  connection,  not  with  Science 
and  Art  examination  papers,  but  with  the  actual 
material  objects  of  their  environment.  Let  us 
imagine  the  Florentine  frescoist,  whom  we  have 
already  seen  transferring  to  the  upright  plane  of 
his  chapel-wall  the  processions  and  shows  which 
filled  up  the  foreground  of  a  city  scene,  suddenly 
brought  into  contact  with  the  entirely  different  view 
of  nature  which  would  be  taken  by  the  adept  of 
the  new  science.  He  has  journeyed,  let  us  say, 
from  Florence  to  Luna.  It  is  near  sunset,  and  he 
sits  by  the  shore  of  the  calm  Mediterranean  watch- 
ing the  broad  red  disc  descend  in  a  sea-mist 
towards  the  horizon.  The  bay  is  dotted  with 
vessels  at  varying  distances.     One  lies  at   anchor 


376  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

broadside-on,  some  hundred  braccia  from  the 
water's  edge.  He  looks  at  the  boat  and  then 
beyond  it  to  the  more  distant  craft,  the  horizon 
and  the  sun,  and  he  realizes,  with  that  shock 
which  comes  of  seeing  a  familiar  thing  in  quite  a 
new  aspect,  that  the  level  surface  of  the  sea  seems 
to  slope  upwards  towards  the  horizon,  carrying  up 
with  it  the  vessels,  scores  of  them,  till  one  of  them 
actually  meets  and  partly  covers  the  orb  of  the 
sun,  which  by  this  time  is  probably  dipping  below 
the  verge.  If  he  put  his  hand  up  before  his  eyes 
at  half-arm's  length,  behold,  these  things,  so  many 
and  so  great,  are  all  covered  up  and  disappear. 
Instead  of  his  hand  he  now  holds  up  his  writing 
tablets,  and  notes  that  they  cover  in  height  all  the 
space  from  the  near  boat  to  far  above  the  sun,  and 
in  width  the  length  of  the  boat  and  a  good  space 
on  either  hand.  Now  he  knows  that  he  can  draw 
the  boat  almost  as  easily  as  he  can  look  at  it,  and 
can  draw  too  all  the  more  distant  boats  above  and 
a  little  on  each  side  of  it,  and  the  sun,  and  the 
hovering  clouds  that  wait  on  its  departure  ;  but  he 
has  never  realized  before  so  clearly  that  on  this 
tablet,  a  span  long  and  a  hand-breadth  high,  he 
can  in  this  way  represent  a  surface  stretching  away 
from  a  little  in  front  of  his  feet  into  infinite  dis- 
tance. The  knowledge  too  that  those  initiated 
into  the  new  science  would  be  able,  under  proper 
conditions,  to  fix  with  mathematical  certainty  the 
relative  sizes  and  shapes  and  positions  of  the  large 
but  distant  objects,  as  they  should  appear  minutely 
reduced  upon  the  tablet,  strikes  his  mind  with 
something  like  the  force  of  a  new  revelation. 


ADVANCE   IN   LINEAR    PERSPECTIVE      377 

The  phenomenon  in  question  is  to  us  moderns  so 
perfectly  familiar  that  we  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  it  is  none  the  less  a  standing  marvel, 
and  was  certainly  recognized  as  such  by  those  who 
first  had  apprehension  of  it  as  a  new  truth.  It  was 
one  thing,  they  would  feel,  to  paint  upright  objects 
on  an  upright  wall,  but  quite  another  thing  to 
translate  the  level  ground  stretching  away  from 
under  their  feet  into  infinity  into  a  horizontal  band 
upon  a  similar  vertical  wall ;  and  it  was  the 
apprehension  of  this  difference  that  was  the  crea- 
tion of  modern  painting.  The  frescoist,  whose 
eyes  had  been  opened  by  some  such  experience  as 
that  just  described,  would  try  to  effect  this  process 
of  translation  in  his  mural  decoration,  and  though 
as  mural  decoration  the  result  may  not  have  been 
to  its  advantage,  the  attempt  represented  a  stage 
in  advance  in  the  general  development  of  painting. 
In  altar-pieces  the  new  process  was  more  in  keep- 
ing. Thus  for  example  in  Mantegna's  noble 
creation  at  San  Zeno,  Verona,  we  find  attendant 
saints  no  longer  standing  grouped  by  the  side  of 
the  Madonna's  throne,  but  in  extended  rows  in 
front,  so  that  we  see  the  throne  at  a  little  distance 
along  a  sort  of  vista  of  standing  figures.  An 
excellent  example  of  successful  translation  of  this 
kind  on  a  large  scale  is  to  be  found  in  Carpaccio's 
scenic  pictures  from  the  legend  of  St.  Ursula,  painted 
at  Venice  before  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
in  some  of  which  we  find  an  astonishing  multitude 
of  figures  and  objects  at  varying  distances  peopling 
the  vast  receding  planes  of  earth  and  sea. 


378  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

§  169.  and  Foreshortening. 

This  same  process  was  also  applied  with  equal 
science  and  success  to  individual  objects,  in  relation 
to  which  it  is  known  as  foreshortening.  As  per- 
spective taught  the  representation  of  the  horizontal 
plane  of  earth  on  the  vertical  plane  of  the  wall  or 
canvas,  so  it  taught  the  proper  delineation,  under 
the  same  conditions,  of  the  extended  body  or  limb. 
Hence  the  feats  of  foreshortening  in  figure-drawing 
of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  over  which 
Vasari  waxes  as  enthusiastic  as  over  the  life-like 
rendering  of  incidents.  We  need  only  mention 
Michelangelo's  tour  de  force  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
where  the  figure  of  the  prophet  Jonah,  though 
actually  painted  on  a  part  of  the  coved  ceiling 
sloping  towards  the  beholder,  is  so  drawn  as  to 
appear  leaning  back  and  violently  foreshortened 
away  from  the  spectator's  eye.  The  Italian  painter 
who  most  thoroughly  grasped  the  secret  of  fore- 
shortening was  Correggio,  whose  figures  seem  to 
have  presented  themselves  to  his  imagination  more 
familiarly  upon  receding  planes  than  either  in 
upright  poses  or  in  horizontal  positions  parallel  to 
the  edge  of  the  picture.  Giorgione  and  Titian 
displayed  their  fair  recumbent  nudes  on  planes  of 
the  latter  kind,  but  the  Danae  of  Correggio  in  the 
Borghese  collection,  Rome,  reclines  away  from  the 
spectator  ;  the  Magdalen  in  the  Giorno,  or  St. 
Jerome  altar-piece,  at  Parma,  Allegri's  choicest 
masterpiece  of  painting,  also  leans  away  into  the 
picture,  while  the  same  great  draughtsman  posi- 
tively revels  in  the  problems  of  foreshortening  he 


FORESHORTENING  379 

set  himself  in  the  cupolas  at  Parma.  This  fajpous 
attempt  to  paint  scenes  in  the  upper  air  just  as 
they  would  appear  to  a  spectator  straining  his 
neck  from  below,  resulted  in  an  effort  to  delineate 
a  sacred  event  as  going  on  in  the  midst  of  a  halo 
of  celestial  legs  (which  is  all  that  under  such  cir- 
cumstances could  really  be  seen),  and  it  is  now 
recognized  to  have  been  a  mistake ;  none  the  less 
however  is  it  a  potent  instance  of  the  fascination 
exercised  over  the  painters  of  the  period  by  the 
science  of  linear  perspective. 

§  170.  Aerial  Perspective  and  Light-and-Shade,  neces- 
sary for  furtlier  advance,  were  not  fully  mastered 
by  the  Italians. 

Linear  perspective  and  foreshortening,  however, 
though  of  the  first  importance,  were  not  the  only 
factors  in  the  transformation  of  painting  from  its 
old  to  its  modern  form.  It  is  indeed  hardly  so 
much  by  linear  perspective,  or  the  progressive 
diminution  in  size  of  objects  as  they  recede,  as  by 
the  gradual  degradation  of  the  intensity  of  light 
and  shadow,  and  the  diminished  saturation  of 
colours,  that  distance — and  so  the  face  of  nature 
as  a  whole — can  be  brought  vividly  before  the 
eye.  I^oreshortening  as  a  matter  of  drawing  is 
simple  enough  in  itself,  but  it  involves  for  the 
conscientious  artist  the  subtlest  problems  of  tone 
and  colour ;  for  as  the  form  in  question  recedes 
from  the  eye,  changes  of  the  most  delicate  kind 
in  the  illumination  and  hue  of  the  parts  present 
themselves  for  record  and  reproduction.  Only 
through  the  rarest  gifts  of  artistic  vision  and  skill 


38o  PAINTING  OLD   AND   NEW 

of  hand  in  matching  faint  transitions,  can  these 
new  difficulties  be  fully  met  and  overcome. 

One  may  ask,  were  not  these  early  Italian 
masters,  so  keen  of  eye,  so  accomplished  of  hand, 
ever  tempted  to  probe  the  aspect  of  things  about 
them  more  narrowly,  and  to  search  out  those 
mysteries  of  light-and-shade  that  transform  as  by 
magic  the  face  of  familiar  objects  ?  Venice,  as 
well  as  Florence,  had  her  brilliant  festal  pageants 
which  shone  with  redoubled  lustre  upon  the  broad 
expanses  of  the  lagoon.  When  Beatrice  of  Este 
was  welcomed  to  Venice  in  1491  the  sea  was 
covered  for  a  mile  or  more  with  gaily-adorned 
vessels,  on  which  were  groups  representing  tritons 
and  sea  nymphs,  with  fair  boys  and  girls  poised 
up  on  masts  and  spars  in  guise  of  classical  genii. 
The  life,  the  glitter  of  these  scenes,  set  off  with 
noble  architectural  or  maritime  backgrounds,  and 
bathed  in  colour  reflected  by  rich  eastern  stuffs 
and  pearls  and  gold,  the  painters  of  Venice  readily 
learned  to  prize  ;  but  had  they  no  eye  for  the 
remoter  charm  of  fading  light  and  mantling 
shadow,  on  the  large  scale  or  the  small,  over  the 
wide  lagoon  or  in  the  narrow  canals? 

After  a  supper  at  Titian's  house  at  the  back  of 
Venice  looking  towards  Murano,  when  the  sun 
had  set,  we  read  how  the  lagoon  was  quickly  alive 
with  gondolas  carrying  coloured  lamps  and  bearing 
the  valour  and  beauty  of  the  city  for  a  cruise  in 
the  cool  evening  air.  Had  not  the  night  a  charm 
when  all  the  richness  and  beauty  of  the  scene  was 

*  mellow'd  to  that  tender  light 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies '  ? 


AERIAL  PERSPECTIVE  381 

The  truth  is  that  the  Italians,  like  all  classical 
and  classically  trained  peoples,  loved  the  light, 
and  left  it  to  the  men  of  the  North  to  discover 
what  fresh  beauties  might  lie  concealed  as  sugges- 
tions beneath  a  veil  of  shadow.  Here  is  what  a 
painter  of  to-day  has  said  about  nightfall  on  the 
Thames :  *  And  when  the  evening  mist  clothes  the 
riverside  with  poetry,  as  with  a  veil,  and  the  poor 
buildings  lose  themselves  in  the  dim  sky,  and  the 
tall  chimneys  become  campanili,  and  the  ware- 
houses are  palaces  in  the  night,  and  the  whole 
city  hangs  in  the  heavens,  and  fairyland  is  before 
us — then  the  wayfarer  hastens  home  ;  the  working 
man  and  the  cultured  one,  the  wise  man  and  the 
one  of  pleasure,  cease  to  understand,  as  they  have 
ceased  to  see,  and  Nature,  who,  for  once,  has  sung 
in  tune,  sings  her  exquisite  song  to  the  artist  alone, 
her  son  and  her  master .'  ^ 

Only  in  the  North  and  only  since  the  seven- 
teenth century  could  this  have  been  felt  or  uttered 
by  the  painter.  Up  to  that  time  sculpture  and 
painting,  both  Greek  and  Christian,  had  aimed  at 
the  clear  delineation  of  noble  themes.  The  shapes 
they  created  were  not  fashioned  to  be  in  any  way 
concealed,  and  they  offered  them  with  a  certain 
serene  self-satisfaction  to  close  inspection  in  every 
part.  The  change  from  this  principle  of  repre- 
sentation to  that  prevailing  in  modern  times  is 
even  more  momentous  than  that  produced  by  the 
introduction  of  perspective ;  and  it  was  mainly 
accomplished  through  the  work  of  a  northern 
artist,  one  of  the  strongest  and  most  individual  of 
1  J.  M*N.  Whistler,  The  Gentle  Art,  etc.  p.  144. 


382  PAINTING  OLD  AND   NEW 

painters.  This  innovation,  with  which  the  name 
of  Rembrandt  is  chiefly  associated,  may  be  briefly 
described  as  the  introduction  of  mystery  as  an 
element  of  effect  in  the  imitative  arts.  As  by  a 
stroke  of  enchantment  Rembrandt  brought  down 
a  cloud  over  the  face  of  nature,  and  beneath  it, 
half-revealed,  half-hidden,  her  shapes  met  the  eye 
in  aspects  full  of  new  suggestion.  This  effect  of 
mystery  was  secured  through  the  use  of  light-and- 
shade  on  a  new  principle  and  to  an  extent  hitherto 
unknown.  Previous  artists  had  indeed,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  made  considerable  use  of  shadow, 
but  they  had  employed  it  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
roundness  and  relief  to  their  forms,  and  so  making 
delineation  at  once  more  true  and  more  forcible. 
Light-and-shade  to  them  were  subordinate  elements 
of  design,  while  Rembrandt  was  the  first  to  make 
compositions  of  light-and-shade — to  use  them  as  a 
musician  uses  his  tones,  as  in  themselves  vehicles 
of  artistic  effect,  and  this  naturally  gave  chiaroscuro 
an  importance  it  had  never  before  possessed. 

§  171.  Light-and-Shade  as  used  by  the  Italian  Painters; 

The  principal  names  that  represent  the  first 
artistic  advances  in  light-and-shade  previous  to 
the  age  of  Rembrandt  are  those  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci  and  Correggio.  It  is  true  that  as  soon  as 
the  introduction  of  perspective  commenced  in  the 
fifteenth  century  to  disturb  the  old  placid  tradi- 
tions of  mural  painting,  shadows  began  also  to  be 
deepened  and  effects  of  light  to  be  more  pro- 
nounced. Piero  della  Francesca  represents  this 
movement,  but  neither  he  nor  his  compatriots  of  a 


LIGHT-AND'SHADE   IN    ITALY  383 

century  later,  such  as  Caravaggio,  used  light-and- 
shade  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  make  their 
forms  tell  out  more  forcibly  against  the  back- 
ground. Leonardo  and,  after  him,  Allegri  observed 
light-and-shade  more  narrowly,  and  strove  to  re- 
present their  subtle  play  over  a  form  which  they 
kiss  without  forcibly  enclosing.  To  the  ordinary 
delineator  an  arm  or  a  leg  is  a  more  or  less 
cylindrical  object,  which  can  be  outlined  on  both 
sides  and  made  to  appear  solid  by  longitudinal 
stripes  of  light  and  shadow  and  half-tone ;  but 
Leonardo  and  Correggio  saw  the  light  steal  over 
face  or  torso  or  limb,  giving  prominence  here  to 
the  rounded  muscular  masses  and  passing  into 
half-tones  as  these  sink  into  their  tendinous  pro- 
longations, marking  the  dimple  with  shadow,  the 
ridge  of  bone  with  sharper  brightness.  On  Cor- 
reggio's  torso  of  the  half-reclining  Danae  the  light 
is  not  all  on  one  side  and  the  shadow  on  the 
other,  but  light  and  shade  chase  one  another  over 
all  the  girl-like  but  rounded  forms.  In  the  Mona 
Lisa  of  Leonardo  in  the  Louvre,  the  modelling  of 
the  face  and  hands  is  carried  out  with  a  finish  of 
analysis  that  has  made  the  work  the  despair  of  all 
who  essay  these  delicate  problems,  while  in  a 
nearer  example  (though  it  is  a  more  doubtful 
specimen  of  the  master),  the  Vierge  aux  Rochers 
of  the  National  Gallery,  the  chubby  limbs  of  the 
children  are  rendered  with  the  same  soft  rise  and 
fall  of  light  over  the  yielding  surface.  All  this 
shows  a  great  advance  towards  a  more  searching 
treatment  of  natural  forms,  a  finer  appreciation  of 
their  more  recondite  beauties,  than  were  thought 


384  PAINTING   OLD   AND    NEW 

of  by  the  older  masters,  but  the  handling  of  Hght- 
and-shade  did  not  yet  extend  from  the  rendering 
of  the  individual  objects  over  the  composition  of 
the  whole  piece.  Direktor  Julius  Meyer,  in  his 
work  on  Allegri,  has  noticed  that  only  in  two 
instances,  the  so-called  *  Notte '  at  Dresden — in 
which  all  the  light  in  the  picture  streams  from 
the  head  of  the  Divine  Child — and  the  Christ  in 
the  Garden  at  Apsley  House  (copy  in  the  National 
Gallery),  does  Correggio  use  light-and-shade  in 
the  same  spirit  as  Rembrandt,  and  Correggio  is 
far  nearer  to  Rembrandt  in  this  department  of 
art  than  any  other  of  the  great  Italians. 

§  172.  and  as  developed  by  Rembrandt  and  the 
Northerns. 

Rembrandt's  new  employment  of  chiaroscuro — 
to  correspond  with  which  he  introduced  in  the 
Etching  a  new  mode  of  artistic  expression  pro- 
ductive of  this  effect  alone — carried  with  it  several 
very  important  consequences.  It  was  not  only 
that  the  painter  was  put  in  the  possession  of  fresh 
resources  of  language  for  the  expression  of  artistic 
thought,  so  that  he  could  henceforth  speak  to  the 
world,  if  he  chose,  merely  through  effects  of  tone 
instead  of  through  the  outlines  and  colours  of 
material  things  ;  the  ordinary  field  of  his  activity 
was  widened  by  the  greater  prominence  now  given 
to  what  had  hitherto  been  merely  a  subsidiary 
element  in  design.  A  quickened  observation  of 
tone  led  to  the  development  of  aerial  perspective, 
which  is,  as  we  have  seen,  undoubtedly  the  most 
telling  way  of  conveying  the  impression  of  distance. 


AND   IN   NORTHERN   SCHOOLS  385 

The  distances  of  the  painters  of  the  older  school 
had  been  full  of  objects  and  figures  as  minutely 
renc  d  as  those  on  the  foremost  planes,  only 
ever-so-much  smaller.  Of  this  kind  is  the  distance 
in  Carpaccio's  large  scenic  pictures  from  the  Ursula 
legend  in  the  Venice  Academy.  Compare  with 
these  distances  the  simply  treated  expanse  of 
country  offered  to  view  in  P.  de  Koninck's  two 
large  landscapes  in  the  Peel  and  Wynn-Ellis  col- 
lections in  the  National  Gallery.  Here  we  do  not 
have  merely  a  series  of  objects  getting  smaller  as 
they  recede,  but  a  far  more  generalized  represen- 
tation of  the  whole  face  of  nature  bathed  in  an 
atmosphere  in  which  '  objects '  are  lost  to  view. 
This  is  aerial  perspective,  and  it  is  only  possible 
through  a  most  careful  study  of  refined  gradations 
of  tone. 

§  173.  Influence  of  the  new  treatment  in  extending 
the  field  of  Painting ; 

Further,  with  this  generalizing  process,  through 
which  the  individual  object  became  merged  in  the 
broad  effect,  went  hand  in  hand  the  substitution  of 
the  magic  of  suggestion  for  the  strict  delineation 
of  the  schools  of  form,  and  by  this  at  once  the 
sphere  of  the  painter's  art  was  immeasurably 
widened.  When  artistic  representation,  no  longer 
clear  and  complete,  relies  rather  upon  subtle  hints 
and  adumbrations  of  the  truth,  then  formal  beauty 
or  distinction  in  the  subject  grows  less  important, 
and  the  common  things  of  the  world  become  fitting 
themes  for  ideal  treatment.  In  the  poetry  of  half- 
shadow  or  in  a  mist  of  light,  what  is  in  itself  mean 

2  B 


386  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

or  ugly  may  become  transformed.  *  How  ugly  that 
house  is,'  said  a  lady  who  was  looking  over  engrav- 
ings with  John  Constable.  '  No,  madam,'  was  the 
reply,  *  there  is  nothing  ugly.  I  never  saw  an  ugly 
thing  in  my  life — for  let  the  form  of  an  object  be 
what  it  may,  light,  shade  and  perspective  will 
always  make  it  beautiful.' 

§  174.  especially  in  regard  to  Landscape. 

And  with  this  humanitarian  breadth,  this  lifting 
of  common  things  to  the  ideal  sphere,  goes  the 
modern  treatment  of  landscape.  Rembrandt,  the 
first  master  who  made  a  general  use  of  light-and- 
shade  as  the  chief  element  in  a  work,  is  also  the 
father  of  modern  landscape,  in  that  he  was  the  first 
who  made  landscape  appeal  directly  to  human 
sentiment.  A  poet-painter,  he  first  established 
that  magnetic  sympathy  between  man  and  nature 
through  which  the  external  world  has  become  so 
large  a  factor  in  our  mental  development.  Man 
could  never  enter,  so  to  say,  into  relations  of 
sympathy  with  the  external  world,  unless  the  face 
of  nature  became  expressive  and  rendered  him 
back  glance  for  glance.  All  that  the  landscape 
painter  knows  under  the  name  of  *  effect '  is  just 
expression  upon  nature's  countenance,  and  effect 
is  a  result  of  changing  tones  and  shadows,  of  veiling 
mist,  of  the  breaking  forth  of  light — of  all  in  short 
that  Rembrandt  first  brought  within  the  painter's 
power  of  realization.  Landscape  painting  in  the 
modern  sense  is  only  possible  through  the  employ- 
ment of  that  charm  of  mystery  the  value  of  which 
in  art  he  was  the  first  to  discern. 


SUMMARY  387 

§  175.  Summary  of  the  foregoing. 

We  see  then,  to  summarize  the  foregoing,  that 
in  certain  at  any  rate  of  its  aspects,  the  art  of 
painting  followed  a  progressive  course  of  develop- 
ment from  the  fifteenth  to  the  seventeenth 
centuries.  Linear  perspective  taught  the  painter 
to  realize  that  what  he  had  to  represent  was  not  a 
thin  upright  slice  of  things  taken  where  they  were 
nearest  to  him,  but  nature  as  a  whole;  that  the 
picture  should  be  no  mere  transcript  of  objects 
against  a  flat  background,  but  rather  an  enchanted 
mirror  in  which  should  be  reflected  space  beyond 
space  in  infinite  recession.  To  accomplish  this, 
drawing  was  not  sufficient  without  the  help  of 
light-and-shade.  But  light-and-shade,  crudely 
juxtaposed  in  sharp  contrast,  gave  force  to 
delineation  but  no  help  towards  aerial  perspective. 
For  this  there  had  rather  to  be  noted  the  almost 
imperceptible  transitions  of  tone  as  objects  re- 
ceded from  the  eye  of  the  spectator.  These 
transitions  are  however  equally  subtle  in  near 
objects  according  to  the  varying  angles  at  which 
their  surfaces  catch  the  light,  and  it  was  by  the 
fine  observations  of  Leonardo  and  his  followers  of 
the  tone  of  near  objects  that  the  way  was  pre- 
pared for  a  broad  and  free  treatment  of  light-and- 
shade  over  the  whole  face  of  nature.  This  the 
Italians  if  left  to  themselves  might  never  have 
accomplished,  for  they  loved  light  and  were  taught 
through  long  tradition  to  value  above  all  things 
the  clear  delineation  of  objects  worthy  to  be  seen. 
The  northern  artists  who  could  never  have  por- 


388  PAINTING   OLD   AND    NEW 

trayed  things  so  beautifully  as  the  Italians,  had  on 
the  other  hand  a  distinct  feeling  for  mystery,  and 
a  tolerance  for  an  obscurity  full  of  poetical  sug- 
gestion, such  as  would  always  scandalize  the 
Southern.  Hence  Rembrandt  with  his  mist  and 
darkness  took  away  from  the  form  of  things  their 
old  importance  and  enabled  the  artist  to  generalize 
to  an  extent  before  unknown.  Subtle  observation 
of  tone  and  comparative  carelessness  of  definite 
delineation  combined  to  make  aerial  perspective  in 
the  broadest  sense  a  possibility  for  art,  while  at  the 
same  time  light  and  shade  emancipated  from 
objects  become  in  themselves  elements  of  an 
artistic  composition.  So,  finally,  the  distances  of 
the  world,  once  filled  full  by  a  Carpaccio  with 
delightful  but  unnecessary  little  objects,  passed 
under  the  veil  of  gloom  cast  over  them  by  Rem- 
brandt to  emerge  simplified  but  glorified  as  pure 
space  and  atmosphere  on  the  enchanted  canvases 
of  Claude  of  Lorraine. 

§  176.  The  introduction  of  Oil-Painting  and  the 
Tempera  Style. 

The  scope  of  the  change  in  the  character  of 
painting  we  are  now  considering  included  the 
intensifying  of  its  technical  practice,  which  becomes 
more  varied,  expressive  and  elaborate.  Up  to  the 
fifteenth  century  two  processes  of  painting  were  in 
use,  the  already  noticed  mural  painting  a  fresco 
(§  70)  and  panel-painting  a  tempera,  that  is  with 
pigments  mixed  with  some  binding  material 
through  which  they  were  retained  in  the  place 
where    they    were    laid.      This    binding    material 


THE   TEMPERA   STYLE  389 

varied  in  different  localities  according  to  climate 
and  tradition,  and  was  composed  of  substances 
like  white  of  egg,  milk  of  fig-shoots,  and  size,  and 
was  generally  soluble  in  water,  though  it  could  be 
protected  afterwards  by  a  waterproof  varnish.  A 
new  kind  of  binding  material  came  into  use  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  consisting  of  certain  oily  and 
resinous  elements,  not  soluble  in  water,  and  drying 
into  a  very  hard  and  unchangeable  substance,  and 
these  or  similar  media  have  been  in  common  use 
ever  since  in  the  processes  known  as  oil-painting. 
Strictly  speaking  oil-painting  is  a  form  of  painting 
*  a  tempera,'  i.e.  '  with  a  mixture,'  for  the  oily 
nature  of  the  vehicle  is  only  an  accident,  and  the 
only  real  distinction  is  between  painting  with  and 
without  any  kind  of  binding  mixture  ;  but  the 
effective  difference  between  tempera  and  oil- 
painting  is  in  fact  very  great.  The  one  is 
generally  recognized  as  a  precise,  smooth,  spirit- 
less style,  while  the  latter  admits  of  the  greatest 
freedom,  force  and  variety,  and  can  be  so  handled 
as  to  express  in  a  remarkable  way  the  artistic 
individuality  of  the  wielder  of  the  brush.  It  is 
noteworthy  that  this  difference  does  not  neces- 
sarily follow  from  the  character  of  the  materials 
employed,  for  the  mere  change  to  oil  or  varnish 
from  a  glutinous  vehicle  not  oleaginous  is  after  all 
not  very  important.  It  is  quite  possible  to  paint  a 
tempera  with  the  same  strength  of  colouring  and 
variety  of  texture  that  are  obtainable  in  oils, 
though  the  oily  medium  is  far  preferable,  especially 
in  a  damp  climate,  from  its  greater  resistance  to 
change.       Moderns    have    sometimes    used    ^gg- 


390  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

tempera  as  under-painting  for  oils,  or  by  itself  well 
locked  up  with  varnish,  with  an  effect  every  whit 
as  free  and  artistic  as  any  gained  with  the  ordinary 
medium,  and  the  experiment  can  be  tried  by  any 
one  who  chooses  to  procure  well-ground  powdered 
colours  and  mix  them  by  the  palette  knife  with 
the  inside  of  an  egg  slightly  beaten  up.  Pigment 
so  treated  can  be  used  with  any  required  degree 
of  body,  and  manipulated  to  any  desired  texture. 
Dry  colour  can  be  dragged  over  under-painting, 
and  wet  colour  used  in  glazes.  All  effects,  indeed, 
are  open  to  the  tempera  painter  if  he  choose  to 
employ  his  colour  so  mixed,  in  the  same  way  as 
he  would  treat  his  oils.  The  contrast  with  which 
we  are  all  so  familiar  between  the  tempera  style 
and  oil-painting,  is  based  in  truth  upon  the  histori- 
cal fact  that  before  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century  panel  pictures  were  always  painted  in  some 
form  of  tempera,  and  were  also  always  executed  in 
a  minute  painstaking  fashion,  productive  of  clean 
outlines,  well-fused  tints,  and  a  smooth  enamel-like 
surface.^  As  a  fact,  after  the  oil  medium  had 
superseded  tempera  in  the  practice  of  the  Flemish 
painters,  and  in  that  too  of  some  of  the  Florentines, 
the  technique  remained  the  same,  and  it  is  often 
impossible  by  mere  inspection  to  distinguish  in 
fifteenth-century  practice  tempera  pieces  varnished, 
from  contemporary  work  in  oils.  So  soon,  how- 
ever, as  the  new  medium  came  in  the  way  of  the 

^  Good  examples  of  tempera  practice  are  to  be  found  in  the  por- 
traits in  profile  of  ladies,  by  Florentine  masters  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  to  be  met  with  in  many  collections.  Precise  delineation 
is  always  characteristic  of  the  style.     Vasari  on  Techniqtie^  p.  291  f. 


CAPABILITIES   OF   OIL-PAINTING  391 

painters  of  Venice  (whose  gifts  in  art  were  widely 
different  from  those  of  the  Flemings  or  Tuscans), 
and  was  by  them  after  some  struggle  vanquished, 
the  precise  and  timid  style  quickly  gave  place  to 
one  of  far  more  freedom  and  boldness,  and  oil- 
painting  in  the  modern  sense  was  launched  upon 
the  world. 

§  177.  Importance  of  the  change  for  the  character  of 
Modem  Painting. 

The  use  now  made  of  the  new  method  of  colour- 
ing was  of  a  kind  that  soon  came  to  correspond 
with  the  more  searching  treatment  of  nature  in  the 
matter  of  light-and-shade  introduced  by  Leonardo. 
By  light-and-shade  the  accidental  variations  in  the 
surface  of  objects  received  their  due  importance, 
and  delineation  became  correspondingly  fuller  of 
interest.  Oil-painting  now  invited  the  artist  to 
represent  By  delicate  manipulation  of  pigmenTThe 
varieties  "of  colour  and  also  ot  texture  to  be^dis- 
cerned  in  similar  surfaces.  In  flesh  painting,  for 
example,  there  were  shown  not  only  all  the  dimples 
and  roundnesses,  but  also  the  varieties  of  colour  in 
different  parts,  due  partly  to  the  surface  tint  of 
the  skin,  and  partly  to  the  transmission  from  below 
of  the  colour  of  the  blood,  while  in  stuffs  and 
jewels,  smooth  and  velvety  textures  could  be  dis- 
tinguished in  the  very  way  the  pigment  was  laid 
on  by  the  brush.  So  much  observation  of  so 
many  varied  beautiesflT  tt^tlire  could  be  now  con- 
centrated Ey  the  painter  upon  a  few  scjuare  feeFof 
his  canvas,  that  a  piece  of  fine  execution,  no 
matter  what  is  represented,  has  since  that  time 


392  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

become  in  itself  of  artistic  value.  So  much  more 
is  seen  and  shown  upon  the  surface  of  the  object 
chosen,  that  our  attention  is  not  aroused  to  ask 
what  the  object  as  a  whole  may  be.  In  fact  for  us 
it  may  be  anything,  so  long  as  it  has  beauties  of 
subtily  modulated  form  and  colour  and  texture. 
The  result  here  is  the  same  as  that  produced  by 
Rembrandtesque  light-and-shade.  By  enfolding 
the  common  things  of  earth  in  a  veil  of  mystery 
the  chiaroscurist  gives  them  value  through  the 
charm  of  poetic  suggestion,  and  in  exactly  the 
same  way  the  painter,  fastening  on  those  acciden- 
tal beauties  of  texture  and  of  colour  which  may 
occur  on  objects  familiar  or  mean,  makes  them 
fitting  themes  for  ideal  artistic  treatment.  How 
different  is  such  an  aim  from  that  of  the  older 
frescoist,  who  made  his  theme  tell  as  a  whole,  as 
subject,  as  a  thing  to  be  seen  and  studied,  and  felt 
no  inclination  towards  a  refined  analysis  of  the 
parts,  insistence  on  which  would  have  marred  his 
general  effect ! 

§  178.  Attitude  of  the  Florentines  towards  the 
new  Medium. 

The  attitude  of  some  of  the  representatives  of 
the  old  school  to  those  of  the  new,  during  the 
sixteenth  century,  proves  that  this  consideration 
was  present  to  men's  thoughts.  When  Michel- 
angelo was  preparing  to  paint  the  Last  Judgment 
in  the  Sistine  Chapel  at  Rome,  his  friend  Sebastian 
del  Piombo  the  Venetian,  an  old  pupil  of  Giorgione, 
advised  him  to  work  in  oil,  and  the  wall  was 
accordingly    prepared     for    this    medium.       The 


NOT   UNDERSTOOD   AT   FLORENCE        393 

Florentine  would  not,  however,  touch  the  work, 
and  had  the  intonaco  changed  to  one  suitable  for 
fresco,  grimly  remarking  that  '  to  colour  in  oil  was 
an  art  for  women  or  for  such  easy-going  indolent 
people  as  Fra  Bastiano.'^  Remarks  of  the  same 
tenor  may  very  well  have  fallen  from  the  master's 
lips  on  other  occasions,  and  Vasari,  his  dutiful 
follower,  may  have  had  them  in  his  mind  when  he 
compares  practice  in  fresco  with  that  in  oil  in  the 
Introduction  to  his  Lives.  The  oil  medium  he 
praises  because  it  '  kindles  the  colours,'  and  at  the 
same  time  admits  of  a  softer  blending  of  the  pig- 
ments, whence  '  in  a  word  artists  can  give  by  this 
method  the  most  charming  grace  and  vivacity  and 
force  to  their  figures,  so  that  they  seem  to  be  in 
relief  upon  the  panel,' ^  but  of  fresco  he  says,  *  of 
all  the  other  ways  in  which  painters  work,  wall- 
painting  is  the  finest  and  most  masterly,  since  it 
consists  in  doing  upon  a  single  day  that  which  in 
other  methods  may  be  accomplished  in  several  by 
going  over  again  what  has  been  done.  .  .  .  There 
are  many  of  our  craft  who  do  well  enough  in  other 
kinds  of  work,  as  for  example  in  oil  or  tempera, 
but  fail  in  this,  for  this  is  in  truth  the  most  manly, 
the  safest  and  most  solid  of  all  ways  of  painting.'^ 
In  these  remarks  it  is  pretty  clear  that  Vasari  had 
in  his  mind  the  practice  of  the  Flemings,  and  of 
those  Italians  who  were  wont  to  use  oils  in  the 
same  precise  spirit  as  the  tempera  painters.  The 
Flemings,  whose  work  was  well  enough  known  at 

^Vasari,  ed.  Milanesi,  V.  p.  584,  Vita  di  Sebastiano  Veneziano. 
2  Vasari  on  Technique^  p.  230. 
^  Ibid.  p.  221. 


394  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

Florence,  through  the  commercial  relations  of  that 
city  with  the  Netherlands,  delighted  in  oil-paint- 
ing mainly  for  the  opportunity  it  gave  for  detail. 
It  wa«5  a  process  admitting  of  leisurely  and  repeated 
applications  of  the  brush,  resulting  in  extreme 
minuteness  of  execution  and  a  gem-like  brilliance 
of  surface,  that  was  specially  effective  when  it 
represented  rich  stuffs  or  gilded  and  jewelled 
accessories  of  dress  and  furniture.  In  painting 
which  aimed  at  these  effects  there  was,  as  we  can 
readily  believe,  something  that  seemed  to  the 
Florentine  frescoists  very  petty  and  niggling,  and 
that  contrasted  very  poorly  with  their  own  broad 
and  simple  treatment  of  large  wall  spaces.  Had 
Vasari,  however,  not  taken  his  idea  of  oil  practice 
from  the  Flemings,  but  turned  his  mind  in  the 
direction  of  Venice  or  of  Parma,  he  would  have  at 
once  remembered  that  oil-painting  in  the  hands  of 
a  Titian,  a  Veronese,  or  an  Allegri,  might  possess 
all  the  qualities  of  breadth  and  freedom  attainable 
in  fresco,  with  the  addition  of  others  which  en- 
larged immensely  the  scope  of  the  art.  The  oil- 
painting  of  a  Tintoretto  when  displayed  on  the 
eighteen  hundred  square  feet  of  canvas  of  the 
Paradise  was  not  an  art  for  women,  and  the 
prodigious  ease  and  rapidity  with  which  his  stormy 
pencil  swept  over  the  walls  of  the  Scuola  di  San 
Rocco  conveys  a  different  impression  from  that  of 
a  piece  of  Flemish  texture-painting.  It  is  clear 
that  Vasari  does  less  than  justice  to  the  new 
medium,  but  at  the  same  time  the  remarks  of  the 
accomplished  frescoist  are  of  value  as  emphasising 
that    difference    between   Old   and   New  aims  in 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF   OIL-PAINTING       395 

painting,  to  which  is  due  so  much  of  the  interest 
of  this  important  epoch  of  transition. 

§  179.  The  Teclmiciue  of  Oil-Painting. 

Examining  now  the  practice  of  the  greatest 
masters  in  oils,  what  is  it  that  we  find  ?  We  see 
a  medium  of  very  extensive  range  giving  oppor- 
tunity for  many  different  effects.  The  pigments 
are  generally  used  of  a  certain  consistency,  and  are 
lightened  by  being  mixed  with  more  or  less  of  the 
dense  substance,  white  lead.  Spread  as  a  paste 
of  a  sensible  thickness  on  the  surface  of  the  panel 
or  canvas,  the  impasto,  as  it  is  called,  can  be  made 
to  assume  various  textures,  smooth  or  granulated, 
at  will,  and  may  exhibit  the  actual  direction  and 
relative  fulness  of  the  very  brush  strokes,  loaded 
or  slightly  charged  with  pigment.  It  is  possible 
so  to  direct  these  strokes  in  relation  to  the  form 
they  indicate,  that  the  eye  in  following  them 
receives  the  impression  of  a  contour,  and  by 
*  loading '  portions  of  the  form  that  come  pro- 
minently forward  to  the  light,  a  certain  material 
relief  can  be  obtained  ;  while  further,  where 
desired,  the  brush  work  can  reproduce  the  actual 
texture  of  objects,  such  as  smooth  flesh  or  wiry 
hair,  the  fell  of  beasts,  or  pile  of  velvets,  the  sharp 
cut  angles  of  jewels  and  the  like — the  pigment 
being  used  in  this  case  somewhat  as  the  modeller's 
clay  or  wax.  Shadowed  portions  which  retire  can 
on  the  other  hand  be  kept  very  flat,  so  that  their 
texture  does  not  strike  the  eye  and  come  unduly 
forward. 

In  handling  various  pigments  a  difficulty  is  met 


396  PAINTING   OLD   AND    NEW 

with,  from  which,  as  is  so  often  the  case  in  artistic 
practice,  there  is  ingeniously  drawn  a  fresh  resource. 
Some  colours,  notably  vegetable  dyes,  sometimes 
the  most  brilliant  of  all,  are  very  deficient  in 
'  body,'  that  is  are  thin  and  transparent  and  cannot 
be  modelled  in  this  manner.  This  thinness  and 
transparency  become  however  an  advantage,  by 
the  use  of  the  pigments  as  a  transparent  *  glaze ' 
over  previously  laid  impasto  which  has  been 
allowed  to  dry.  This  impasto  may  be  modelled 
up  in  white,  or  in  white  mingled  with  any  desired 
tint,  and  the  transparent  glaze  employed  only  to 
give  colour.  Effects  of  great  brilliancy  can  thus 
be  obtained,  for  the  impasto  underneath  may  be 
modelled  according  to  any  of  the  devices  just 
indicated,  and  may  be  of  a  colour  chosen  to  work 
in  relation  with  the  superimposed  glaze.  After 
the  glaze  is  floated  over  the  surface  a  touch  of  the 
thumb  where  the  impasto  is  prominent  and  lights 
are  required,  will  so  far  thin  it  as  to  let  the  under- 
lying colour  show  through  and  blend  with  the 
deeper  tint  of  the  glaze  in  the  shadows.  Thus  in 
the  noble  Veronese  in  the  London  National  Gallery, 
called  the  Consecration  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  kneel- 
ing figure  of  the  Saint  is  robed  in  green  with 
sleeves  of  golden  orange.  This  latter  colour  is 
evidently  carried  through  as  under-painting  over 
the  whole  draped  portions  of  the  figure,  the  green 
being  then  floated  over  and  so  manipulated  that 
the  golden  tint  shows  through  in  parts  and  gives 
the  high  lights  on  the  folds. 

Transparent  glazes  can  be  employed  with  ex- 
treme subtlety  as  a  finishing  process  in  delicate 


VENETIAN   PRACTICE  397 

passages  of  flesh  painting,  and  convey  very  per- 
fectly certain  effects  of  nature.  It  is  of  course 
untrue  to  speak  of  a  shadow  as  being  *  cast  upon ' 
a  surface,  for  shadow  is  merely  a  negative  quality 
and  signifies  comparative  absence  of  light,  but  the 
use  of  a  transparent  rubbing  of  grey  over  pearly 
flesh,  as  in  Correggio's  work,  conveys  exactly  the 
impression  of  a  shade  superimposed  on  the  skin, 
which  retains  its  potential  brightness  below. 

§  180.  The  practice  of  Correggio  and  the  Venetians ; 

No  painters  have  made  more  use  of  glazing  as 
a  finishing  process  than  the  great  Venetians  and 
Correggio.  It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  the 
practice  of  these  supreme  colourists  was  by  no 
means  such  as  we  should  have  anticipated.  So 
ripe  and  glowing  are  Venetian  flesh  tints,  that  we 
should  rather  have  expected  an  under-painting  in 
the  warmest  and  richest  tints  of  the  palette,  com- 
pleted with  veiling  touches  of  thin  cool  pigment 
which  should  actually  reproduce  the  natural  rela- 
tion of  skin  to  flesh.  As  a  fact  however,  both  the 
Venetians  and  Correggio  prepared  for  flesh  with 
cool  pigment,  sometimes  modelling  up  the  forms 
in  monochrome  before  application  of  the  colouring, 
which  often  depended  for  its  final  effect  to  a  great 
extent  upon  glazes. 

Sir  Charles  Eastlake  remarks  that  Correggio 
*  began  his  flesh  colour  on  a  comparatively  colour- 
less, and  sometimes  even  cold  scale,  as  compared 
with  the  glow  of  his  finished  works,'^  while  Vene- 
tian   practice   is   well   enough   illustrated    on   the 

^  Materials  for  a  History  of  Oil- Paintings  II.  p.  254. 


398  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

sufficiently  numerous  unfinished  canvases  of  these 
prolific  but  sometimes  over-hasty  artists.  Such  a 
canvas  was  in  the  collection  of  Mr.  Ruskin,  the 
forms  outlined  and  boldly  laid  in  with  little  more 
than  black  and  red,  the  characteristic  Venetian 
ripeness  and  juiciness  being  at  that  stage  con- 
spicuously absent. 

We  are  fortunate  in  possessing  a  technical 
description  of  Titian's  method  of  work  duripg  the 
later  period  of  his  life,  which  is  doubly  valuable 
as  coming  from  a  practical  painter  and  pupil  of 
the  master — Palma  Giovine.  What  is  described 
is  Veccellio's  method  of  painting-in  very  solidly, 
and  then  finishing  with  delicate  glazes.  Palma 
told  our  informant^  that  he  was  wont  to  lay  in  his 
pictures  with  a  great  mass  of  pigment,  which 
served  as  a  species  of  bed  or  foundation  for  all 
that  he  was  going  to  express  in  the  upper  painting. 
*  I  remember,'  he  said,  *  seeing  his  resolute  strokes 
with  brushes  heavily  charged  with  colour ;  some- 
times he  would  use  a  dash  of  red  earth,  so  to  say, 
for  middle  tint ;  and  at  other  times  with  a  brushful 
of  white  and  the  same  pencil  filled  with  red  with 
black  and  with  yellow,  he  would  model  up  the 
relief  of  a  prominent  form,  with  such  science  that 
in  four  strokes  of  the  brush  he  would  give  the 
promise  of  a  beautiful  figure.'  These  *  precious 
foundations '  being  thus  laid  in,  would  be  turned 
with  their  face  to  the  wall,  and  left  there  often  for 

^Boschini.  The  description  occurs  in  that  writer's  treatise  Le 
ricche  Miniere  delta  Pittura  Veneziana,  2nd  ed.,  Venezia,  1674, 
p.  16.  There  is  a  partial  translation  of  it  in  Crowe  and  Caval- 
caselle's  Life  of  Titian^  2nd  ed.  London,  1881,  i.  p.  218. 


THE   PRACTICE   OF  REUBENS  399 

some  months  without  his  ever  looking  at  them. 
They  would  then  be  brought  out  one  by  one  and 
subjected  to  the  most  rigorous  scrutiny,  *  as  if  they 
were  the  face  of  his  most  mortal  enemy.'  Where 
any  defect  or  redundancy  appeared,  he  would  deal 
with  the  case  like  a  skilful  surgeon — pruning  away 
excrescences,  re-setting  an  arm,  twisting  a  foot 
round  into  its  proper  place,  regardless  of  pain  to 
the  patient.  This  would  then  be  put  aside  to  dry 
and  another  canvas  would  pass  under  the  knife, 
till  'little  by  little  he  would  have  covered  with 
real  living  flesh,  these  first  brief  abstracts  of  his 
intention.'  When  it  came  to  'delicate  flavourings' 
in  the  shape  of  re-touches,  he  would  go  over  the 
work,  here  with  a  dab  of  the  thumb  in  the  high 
lights  (which  he  would  thus  model  off  into  the 
half-tints),  and  there  with  a  simple  streak  of  the 
finger  that  dashed  a  spot  of  dark  into  some  corner 
to  heighten  the  effect,  or  else  some  blood-drop  of 
crimson  to  vivify  a  surface.  '  In  this  way  he  would 
go  on  and  on,  bringing  up  gradually  to  perfection 
his  life-like  figures  .  .  .  and  in  the  finishing  pro- 
cess he  really  painted  more  with  the  finger  than 
with  the  brush.' 

§  181.  and  of  Eubens  and  the  Flemish  School. 

This  superimposing  of  transparent  on  solid 
painting  may  equally  well  be  reversed,  and  the 
full-bodied  pigment  mixed  with  white  may  be 
struck  into  a  previously  laid  transparent  tint. 
The  practice  of  painting  into  a  wet  glaze  or  rub- 
bing was  especially  characteristic  of  the  Flemings, 
with  Rubens  at  their  head,  and  was  also  followed 


400  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

by  Frans  Hals,  who  was  born  and  brought  up  in 
Flanders  though  he  set  up  his  studio  at  Haarlem. 
Of  the  technique  of  Rubens,  Decamps  has  pre- 
served the  tradition,  which  is  fully  borne  out  by  an 
examination  of  his  works.  He  began  with  rub- 
bings of  a  deep,  rich,  transparent  tint  which  served 
with  certain  modifications  for  the  shadows,  the 
lights  being  painted  into  the  preparation  while  still 
wet.  *  It  seems,'  wrote  Decamps,  *  that  in  the 
pictures  of  Rubens  the  portions  that  are  turned 
from  the  light  are  never  charged  with  pigment :  it 
was  one  of  the  criticisms  of  his  enemies  to  make 
out  that  his  pictures  were  not  painted  with  body 
enough,  and  showed  little  more  than  coloured 
varnish^  that  would  not  last  longer  than  the 
painter's  own  lifetime.  One  sees  at  present  that 
this  prediction  was  wholly  wanting  in  foundation. 
At  first,  it  is  true,  under  the  brush  of  Rubens  every- 
thing had  the  appearance  of  a  glaze^  but  though  he 
often  derived  some  value  from  the  effect  of  the 
canvas  itself,  this  was  always  entirely  covered  with 
colour.  ..."  Commence,"  he  would  say  to  his 
pupils,  "by  lightly  laying  in  your  shadows,  but 
take  care  to  let  no  white  get  into  them,  for  this  is 
the  poison  of  a  picture  except  in  the  lights.  .  .  . 
For  the  lights  on  the  contrary  you  may  load  the 
pigments  as  much  as  you  please  ;  they  possess 
body,  though  at  the  same  time  you  must  take  care 
to  keep  them  pure.  .  .  .  Over  the  preparation  you 
can  pass  again  and  add  those  decided  touches 
which  are  always  the  distinctive  marks  of  the  great 
masters." '  ^ 

*Ztf  vie  des  Peinires  Flamands^  etc.,  Paris,  1753,  i.  p.  310  r. 


THE   PAINTER'S   'HANDWRITING'         401 

The  characteristic  advantages  of  this  method  of 
work  are,  first,  breadth,  and,  second,  speed.  The 
under  tint,  often  a  rich  soft  amber  or  brown,  being 
spread  equally  over  the  canvas  makes  its  presence 
felt  throughout,  although  all  sorts  of  colours  and 
textures  may  be  painted  into  it.  Hence  the  whole 
preserves  a  unity  of  effect  that  is  highly  pictorial. 
Further,  as  the  whole  beauty  of  the  work  depends 
on  the  skill  of  hand  by  which  the  solid  pigment  is 
partly  sunk  into  the  glaze  at  the  shadow  side, 
while  it  comes  out  drier  and  stronger  in  the  lights, 
and  as  this  must  be  done  rightly  at  once  or  not  at 
all,  the  process  under  a  hand  like  that  of  Rubens 
is  a  singularly  rapid  one.  Exquisite  are  the  effects 
thus  gained  when  the  under  tint  is  allowed  to  peep 
through  here  and  there,  blending  with  the  solid 
touches  to  produce  the  subtlest  effects  of  tone  and 
colour. 

The  most  striking  illustration,  however,  of  this 
use  of  full-bodied  colours  struck  into  and  over 
transparent  rubbings,  is  to  be  found  in  some  of 
the  work  of  Frans  Hals.  Houbraken  has  left  on 
record  the  following  :  *  It  is  said  that  he  had  the 
custom  of  laying  in  his  portraits  with  oily  and 
softly  blending  colours  (zyn  Pourtretten  vet,  en 
zachtsmeltende  aan  te  leggen)  and  then  after- 
wards to  put  in  the  brush-strokes,  saying,  "  Now 
we  must  have  the  handwriting  of  the  master  into 
it."'-^  Such  'handwriting,'  virile,  distinct,  we  read 
in  characteristic  pieces  of  his  work,  nowhere  more 
clearly  than  in  the  picture  called  Junker  Ramp 
and   his  Sweetheart,  exhibited  in   Paris  in    1883. 

^  Groote  Schouburgk,  etc.,  's  Gravenhage,  1753,  I.  p.  93. 
2C 


40S  PAINTING   OLD   AND    NEW 

Here  the  heads  are  painted  in  with  thin  glazy- 
colours  and  much  medium  in  simple  warm  flesh 
tints  of  low  tone,  while  the  opaque  pigments — 
greys,  yellow  flesh-lights,  cherry  reds — are  struck 
in  with  firm  touches  that  can  be  counted,  while  the 
original  liquid  tints,  showing  through  them  the 
texture  of  the  canvas,  are  in  places  left  entirely 
untouched. 

§  182.  The  place  of  Teclmique  in  Modem  Fainting. 

In  their  use  of  these  various  methods  of  oil- 
painting,  the  great  masters  as  a  rule  exhibit  a 
reserve  and  a  sober  tact  not  always  maintained  by 
their  modern  followers.  For  example,  the  practice 
of  painting  into  a  wet  rubbing  may  secure  a  rich 
and  harmonious  effect,  but  it  may  also  lead  an 
inferior  practitioner  into  monotony  and  unctuous- 
ness.  The  warm  glazes  of  the  Venetians,  a  little 
too  thickly  and  widely  spread,  will  suffuse  the 
whole  piece  with  the  spurious  sunshine  delighted 
in  by  second-rate  colourists.  Then  again,  there 
are  certain  specious  devices  of  modelling  impasto 
so  as  to  bring  high  lights  into  actual  relief  or  to 
imitate  the  textures  of  natural  objects,  that  we 
learn  from  ancient  practice  to  distrust.  It  follows 
of  course  from  the  nature  of  oil  pigments  that 
lighter  passages,  involving  a  free  use  of  white,  are 
painted  with  the  most  body,  while  shadows  can 
be  indicated  with  considerable  depth  as  well  as 
transparency  by  the  mere  rubbing  which  some- 
times satisfied  Frans  Hals.  Hence  the  light  parts 
may  stand  out  in  thick  impasto  beyond  the  rest, 
and  the  highest  light  tend  to  become  a  projecting 


DEVICES   OF   MANIPULATION  403 

dot  of  pigment.  The  great  masters  accept  these 
mechanical  consequences  of  the  medium  they 
employ,  but  so  far  from  emphasising  them  they 
endeavoured  to  minimize  their  working.  Thus 
Rembrandt  paints  solidly  under  his  shadows, 
though  he  may  use  glazes  as  a  finish.  It  was 
of  course  discerned  by  these  essentially  sound 
practitioners  that  the  projecting  high  light,  while 
it  may  seem  to  give  a  certain  brilliancy  for  the 
moment,  really  defeats  its  own  object,  for  in  side 
or  top  illumination  it  will  cast  an  actual  shadow 
in  its  neighbourhood  just  where  shadow  is  not 
needed,  and  in  the  course  of  time  may  attract  so 
much  dust  as  to  tell  out  rather  as  a  spot  of  black. 

The  case  is  the  same  with  the  imitation  of  relief 
effects.  This  is  at  times  carried  pretty  far  by 
masters  of  great  research  in  their  practice,  such  as 
Rembrandt  and  Reynolds,  who  will  work  into  a 
plastic  mass  of  white  pigment  with  the  handle  of 
the  paint-brush  till  a  sort  of  relief  design  is 
formed,  the  colouring  being  adjusted  by  glazes. 
As  a  rule  however,  this  dangerous  approach  to  a 
confusion  between  graphic  and  plastic  delineation 
is  avoided,  and  the  principles  of  the  painter's  art, 
which  presuppose  a  flat  surface,  are  frankly  main- 
tained. 

It  is  indeed  just  as  much  a  mistake  to  attempt 
to  present  plastic  effects  in  painting  as  to 
imitate  the  distinctive  features  of  painting  in 
sculpture.  Painting  represents  form  by  a  conven- 
tion, and  it  does  best  when  it  abides  within  the 
boundaries  of  that  convention,  and  cheats  the 
glance  by  its  own  painted  light-and-shade,  not  by 

2  c  2 


404  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

light-and-shade  from  without,  which  must  vary 
with  accidents  of  local  illumination.  It  was 
always  held  at  the  Renaissance  to  be  one  of  the 
glories  of  painting  that  it  had  its  own  light-and- 
shade  in  itself.  A  similar  criticism  applies  to 
texture-painting.  If  the  masterpieces  of  still-life 
painting  left  by  the  Dutch  be  examined,  it  will 
be  seen  that  the  differing  surfaces  of  stuffs  and 
metal  and  glass,  of  smooth-rinded  apples  and 
gnarled  lemons,  are  all  most  justly  rendered,  but 
with  very  little  aid  from  plastic  reproduction  of 
textures  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  way  of  painting  will 
show  a  certain  variation  in  accordance  with  the 
textures  to  be  represented,  though  this  will  never 
be  carried  to  the  extent  of  actual  reproduction  of 
the  surfaces.  Correggio  and  the  Venetians  did 
not  prepare  for  flesh  as  they  prepared  for  drapery 
and  backgrounds,  and  they  always  show  within 
due  limits  that  they  are  mindful  not  only  of  the 
differing  textures  of  flesh  and  stuffs,  but  of  the 
varying  '  feel '  of  the  latter  among  themselves. 
In  all  these  matters  the  moderation  of  the  really 
great  painters  contrasts  with  the  fevered  efforts 
after  what  is  striking  and  brilliant  in  practice,  too 
much  favoured  in  modern  times. 

The  truth  is  that  the  salvation  of  the  painter  in 
oils  does  not  depend  on  the  size  or  shape  of  his 
brush-strokes  and  their  distance  apart,  nor  on  any 
mixture  and  manipulation  of  pigment.  Let  it  not 
be  forgotten  that,  while  some  great  masters  are 
varied  and  searching  in  their  technical  procedure, 
others,  in  every  way  their  compeers,  are  perfectly 
simple  and  straightforward.     Titian  and  Rubens, 


A  MASTERPIECE   OF   VELASQUEZ         405 

as  we  have  just  noted,  play  off  one  set  of  effects 
against  another,  and  the  former  especially  elabo- 
rates with  successive  coatings  till  his  fastidious 
taste  is  satisfied.  But  by  their  side  stands 
Velasquez — limpidly  clear  in  execution  and  direct 
in  process,  achieving  his  aim  by  his  unrivalled 
lightness  of  hand,  and  satisfied  with  the  simplest 
equipment.-^  If  Rembrandt  labour  in  his  tech- 
nique, the  genre  painters  of  his  country  are  so 
unassuming,  that  Fromentin  confesses  that  no  one 
knows  how  they  portioned  out  their  operations, 
whether  they  painted  on  grounds  light  or  dark, 
and  coloured  in  the  substance  of  the  impasto  or 
on  the  top  of  it.^  Reynolds,  whose  experimental 
vein  exhausted  itself  in  technical  devices  and  in 
media,  was  matched  at  almost  every  point  by  one 
of  the  directest  of  workers — Gainsborough. 

It  is  not  the  process,  indeed,  that  matters,  but 
the  result — and  this  result,  arrived  at  sometimes 
after  much  searching  and  labour,  sometimes  at 
once  by  happy  accident,  will  always  depend  upon 
a  most  exquisite  nicety  of  handling,  by  which, 
amidst  a  play  of  varying  tints  and  tones,  the  Too- 
much  is  always  by  a  hair's-breadth  avoided,  and 
the  whole  subdued  to  the  most  perfect  harmony. 
No  better  example  of  such  harmony  can  be  found 
than  the  head  of  Philip  IV  by  Velasquez  in  the 

^M.  Paul  Lefort  {Velasqttez,  Paris,  1888,  p.  140)  states  that 
ochres  and  red  and  brown  earths  form  the  staple  ingredients  of  the 
master's  palette,  while  he  is  disposed  to  believe  that  Velasquez 
hardly  made  any  use  of  lakes,  i.e.  of  the  rich  glazing  tints  so  beloved 
of  the  Venetians. 

^Les  Mattres  cf  autrefois,  p.  185. 


4o6  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

National  Gallery,  one  of  the  finest  examples  of 
oil-painting  easily  accessible  to  the  British  student 
(Plate  XVI).  Though  one  of  the  later  works  of 
the  master,  it  is  constructed  out  of  a  carefully 
wrought  and  smooth  impasto,  without  any 
bravura  strokes,  such  as  those  which  model  up 
the  rugged  features  of  the  Esop  at  Madrid. 
The  lights  are  nowhere  loaded.  The  hair  is 
painted  not  modelled,  the  jewels  on  the  dress 
easily  touched-in  without  relief-effect  or  juggling. 
The  wonder  of  the  thing  is  the  infinite  variety 
over  a  surface  so  simply  treated.  The  face  is  in 
such  broad  even  light  that  one  has  to  adopt  some 
device  which  brings  it  freshly  into  the  field  of 
vision — as  by  turning  the  head  down  or  looking 
at  it  through  the  hand — in  order  to  see  how  firm 
is  the  modelling,  and  when  this  is  done  it  comes 
out  with  the  plastic  fulness  of  a  stereoscopic 
picture.  The  flesh  tints  are  simple  enough — raw 
umber,  red  earth,  vermilion,  a  touch  of  cobalt, 
with  yellow  and  white?  Yet  take  almost  any 
square  inch  of  surface  on  the  face — say  the  upper 
lip  with  its  moustache — and  note  the  effect  of  each 
one  of  the  free  brush-strokes  which  drew  the  pale 
umber  hair  over  the  warm  rubbing  on  the  flesh  ; 
or  in  the  cold  lack-lustre  blue  eye,  measure  the 
apparent  ease  of  the  touches  against  their  firm, 
incisive  clearness.  Everything  is  there — form, 
expression,  in  a  word,  the  life — but  it  has  all 
grown  into  perfection  on  the  canvas  so  quietly, 
so  smoothly — as  if  Velasquez  had  indeed,  in  the 
phrase  of  Raphael  Mengs,  painted  with  the  will 
only  and  not  with  the  hand  ! 


Plate  XVI.       To  face  p.  406. 
Philip  TV,  by  Velasquez,  in  the  National  Gallery. 


.•  •      •  _  •  ' 


PAINTING  AND   NATURE  407 

^  Faire  vivre^  voila  la  grande  difficult^  de  la 
peinture  et  son  but^ !  exclaims  the  apostle  of  the 
modern  in  the  painting  of  our  time.^  '  Faire 
vivre ' ;  yes,  here  is  the  artist  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  realities  of  his  craft,  to  despair  of  all 
trickery,  and  to  learn  from  Velasquez  that  after 
all  it  is  by  his  relation  to  nature,  not  his  sleight 
of  hand  or  taste  in  contrasted  tints,  that  he  may 
hope  to  rise  to  the  companionship  of  the  great  of 
old  !  A  mastery  over  these  technical  methods  of 
oil-painting  is  of  course  a  necessary  part  of  his 
equipment,  for  it  is  only  through  this  that  he  can 
compass  that  artistic  rendering  of  nature  spoken 
of  in  §  88  as  *the  Essence  of  the  Painter's  Art,' 
and  reveal  that  Beauty  and  Significance  in  the 
outward  show  of  things,  which  only  the  painter's 
eye  can  discern  and  only  his  hand  interpret.  It 
is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  technique  is 
something  external — something  that  can  be  put 
on  or  off,  as  if  distinct  from  other  qualities  dis- 
played in  art.  On  the  contrary,  in  painting  it 
should  be  so  essential  a  part  of  the  work,  that  we 
should  feel  doubtful  if  the  subject  could  be  ex- 
pressed in  any  other  way  than  by  the  particular 
brush-strokes  actually  employed.  Yet  this  tech- 
nique must  be  the  painter's  servant  and  not  his 
master.  Its  work  is  to  *  make  the  subject  live,' 
and  this  can  only  be  done  through  that  intellectual 
and  moral  sympathy  by  which  the  artist  lives 
again  in  his  own  imagination  the  life  of  things. 
Fine  painting  is  not  Nature  alone  nor  merely  Art; 
but  rather  a  mystic  marriage  of  both  that  is  con- 
*  Alfred  Stevens,  Impressions ^  etc. ,  No.  cccvii. 


4o8  PAINTING   OLD   AND   NEW 

summated  only  in  the  birth  of  the  new  creation, 
the  work  of  art. 

This  relation  of  technique  to  the  representative 
part  of  painting  is  typical  of  the  relation  of  art 
in  general  to  human  life.  In  art  the  human 
spirit  creates  a  world  of  its  own,  in  the  making 
and  the  use  of  which  it  moves  self-determined 
and  in  freedom  ;  but,  as  was  shown  in  an  early 
chapter  (§§  4  ff.),  this  self-determination  is  not 
mere  wilfulness,  nor  is  this  freedom  divorced  from 
a  rational  aim  and  control.  If  therefore  the 
technical  handling  of  a  great  painter,  as  the 
expression  of  his  own  individuality,  is  like  all 
artistic  activity  self-determined  and  free,  it  is 
at  the  same  time  conditioned,  like  art  in  general, 
by  the  facts  of  the  real  world.  The  relations 
between  art  in  its  various  forms  and  objective 
truths  and  utilities  have  been  illustrated  in  the 
foregoing  discussions,  and  it  remains  only  to 
add  a  concluding  word. 

Gottfried  Semper,  in  a  note  to  his  work  on 
Style^  has  summarized  these  relations  in  a  striking 
figure.  Rejecting  all  easy  and  logical  theories 
that  would  reduce  art  to  the  handmaid  of  nature 
or  of  utility,  he  adopts  the  bold  comparison  of 
art  to  a  masked  play,  a  nightly  revel,  the  first 
condition  of  which  is  detachment  from  the 
ordinary  business  of  existence — *  the  smoke  of 
the  carnival-taper  is  the  true  atmosphere  of  art ' ! 
Art  is  the  mask,  the  performance,  the  mimic 
show,  behind  which  are  hidden  the  truths  of 
nature  and    of  human    life.       These    truths    are 


SEMPER  ON  ART  409 

not  ignored  in  the  representation  but  they  are 
beautified,  transfigured,  and  in  Semper's  phrase, 
annulled  ;  for  '  the  annulling  of  reality,  of  the 
material^  is  essential  wherever  it  is  intended 
that  the  form  shall  stand  forth  as  the  pregnant 
symbol,  the  independent  creation  of  the  human 
spirit'  In  this  creation  art  is  free,  and  acknow- 
ledges beauty  as  her  own  first  law  of  truth ; 
while  she  is  not  thereby  emancipated  from  all 
relation  to  the  substantial  verities  which  lie 
behind  the  representation.  In  the  freedom  of 
art  lies  hid  a  deep  respect  for  law.  Her  struc- 
tures are  based  upon  the  rock,  her  widest  flights 
are  upon  reason's  wing.  And  so  to  finish  in  the 
words  of  Semper,  *  it  boots  little  to  wear  a  mask 
where  behind  the  mask  things  are  not  right,  or 
where  the  mask  is  useless.  Before  the  material 
(of  which  we  cannot  get  rid)  can,  in  the  sense  in 
which  we  are  speaking,  be  annulled  in  the  artistic 
representation^  it  is  necessary  first  above  all  things 
that  it  should  be  completely  mastered.  Only 
perfect  technical  finish,  well-understood  and  correct 
handling  of  the  material  according  to  its  qualities, 
and,  above  all,  a  constant  reference  to  these  last 
in  the  process  of  giving  the  artistic  form,  can 
make  the  material  forgotten,  can  emancipate  from 
it  entirely  the  artistic  representation,  can  in  a 
word  elevate  a  simple  study  of  nature  to  the  rank 
of  a  lofty  work  of  art'  ^ 

'^Der  Stily  I.  p.  216,  note. 


INDEX. 


Abacus,  312, 

Academy,  Royal,  2. 

Adam,  Robert,  245,  318. 

Adoration  of  the  Magi,  106  f. 

Adornment,  not  in  itself  artistic, 
63 ;  of  the  person,  25,  33-36, 
44 ;  of  the  implement  or 
weapon,  26,  29  f.,  36. 

^dituus,  58. 

Aerial  Perspective,  195,  379  f. 

Alberti,  L.  B.,  318,  375. 

Alciphron,  quoted,  71. 

'  Alignement,'  53. 

Animals,  question  of  their 
aesthetic  sense,  18  f.,  45  f. 

Anthropology,  its  recent  con- 
tributions to  artistic  theory, 
6f. 

Antike  Denkmaler^  175. 

Antique,  the,  327  f.  ;  how  to  be 
regarded,  354. 

Apelles,  189. 

Apollo  Belvidere,  86. 

Apoxyomenos  by  Lysippus,  336, 
352. 

Arch,  its  different  forms,  157  f., 
288  f.  ;  its  historical  use, 
316  f.  ;  pointed,  295  f. 

Arched  style,  290  f. 

Architects,  discuss  their  own 
art,  I  ;  work  under  constraint, 
10  f. 

Architecture,  its  festal  origin 
and  character,  51,  55  f.  ;  an 
art  of  free  expression,  61  ;  its 


monumental  quality,  52,  54  f.; 
first  of  the  arts,  55  ;  constitu- 
tion of,  64  ;  elements  of  effect 
in,  156  f.  ;  first  essentials  of 
effect  in,  220 ;  Sublimity  in, 
221  f.  ;  styles  of,  their  signifi- 
cance, 222  f.,  279  f.  ;  gives 
suggestion  of  natural  forms, 
225  f.  ;  how  it  should  be 
studied,  242  ;  breadth  in,  244  ; 
forms  in,  256  f.  ;  composition 
in,  258  f.  ;  relation  of  beauty 
and  use  in,  272  f.  ;  '  construc- 
tion beautified,'  275  ;  design 
in,  276  f.  ;  culminated  at  two 
periods,  327. 

Prehistoric,  54  ;  Egyptian, 
55  f. ,  300  f. ;  Babylonian,  286 
Assyrian,  287,  289  f.  ;  Greek 
59  f-,  273,  302,  310  f. 
Roman,  223  f.,  291,  316  f. 
Early  Christian,  321  ;  Gothic 
257,  292  f.,  319  f.  ;  Renais 
sance,  223,  291,  318  f, 
military,  52. 

Architrave,  312. 

Aristophanes,  quoted,  73. 

Aristotle,  quoted,  38,  126,  229. 

Art,  its  literature,  2 ;  '  evolu- 
tion' in,  4  f.  ;  freedom  of,  8 
f. ;  its  relation  to  play  and 
work,  12  f.,  21  ;  its  relation 
to  the  higher  life  of  man,  17  f.; 
as  a  social  activity,  22,  36  f.  ; 
its  earliest  manifestations,  24  f. ; 


412 


INDEX 


as  self-  externalization,  35 
f.  ;  its  debt  to  the  festival, 
48  f.,  65  f.  ;  tabular  view  of 
its  beginnings,  61  f.  ;  a  langu- 
age, 236  f. 

Artistic  impulse  in  man,  19  f., 
33  f.  ;  its  individual  character, 
37. 

Athenseus,  quoted,  70,  71,  72. 

Attributes,  their  use  in  Greek 
art,  90  f. 

Avebury,  Lord,  quoted,  53. 

Augustus,  statue  of,  in  the 
Vatican,  177. 

Avignon,  Papal  Palace  at,  52, 
226. 

Barrau,  Th.,  179. 
Bartholdi's  '  Liberty,'  333. 
Basilica,  Early  Christian,  322  f. 
Battlement,  287. 
Beauty,  in   works  of  art,  205, 

239   f.  ;    its  relation    to  use, 

224  f.,  271. 

Winckelmann's    theory  of, 

95  f. 
Beauvais,  choir  of,  222,  296. 
Bent,  Theodore,  quoted,  67. 
Black,  different  hues  of,  215. 
Black-and-white,  200  f. 
Block-books,  2or. 
Boetticher,  Adolf,   quoted,    60, 

177. 
Boetticher,  Karl,  quoted,    311, 

315.   . 
Boschini,  quoted,  398  f. 
Bottari,  quoted,  370. 
Brazil,  ornamental  art  in,  5  f. 

•  Breadth,'  244  f.,  342,  362,  401. 
Brick,  as  building  material,  286. 
Bronze,  its  treatment,  173,  336, 

339,.365f. 
Browning,    Robert,   his   insight 

into  art,  228. 
Brunelleschi,  no,  286. 
Brunn,    Heinrich,    referred    to, 

271. 

*  Brush-work,'  248. 

Bucher,  Prof.,  his  Arbdt  und 
Rhythmus,  quoted,  16,  25  f., 
42. 


Burckhardt,  Jacob,  referred  to, 

104  f. 
Buttress,  286  ;  flying,  294. 

Caravaggio,  383. 

Carnac,  53,  55. 

Carpaccio,  377,  385. 

'  Castor  and   Pollux,'  on  Quir- 

inal  at  Rome,  337. 
Cennino  Cennini,  quoted,   128, 

130,  142  f. 
Centaurs,    84 ;    on     Parthenon 

Metopes,  349,  364. 
Chain,    the,   an  ancient  Greek 

dance,  67  f. 
Chartres    Cathedral,    sculpture 

on,  353. 
Christy  and  Lartet,  referred  to, 

29,  32. 
Church,  Prof.,  quoted,  142. 
Cicero,  quoted,  331. 
Circle,  255. 
'  Circumlitio,'  176  f. 
Claude  of  Lorraine,  238,   245, 

388. 

Clay,  as  building  material,  286  ; 
as  material  for  sculpture,  355. 

Clearness  in  composition,  253  f. 

Colleoni,  statue  of  at  Venice, 
338. 

Colonnade,  in  ancient  architec- 
ture, 316. 

Colossus  of  Rhodes,  333. 

Colour,  as  element  of  architec- 
tural effect,  161  f.,  281  ;  as 
element  of  effect  in  sculpture, 
170  f.  ;  and  in  painting,  196  f. 

Colours,  '  warm  '  and  *  cold,' 
211. 

Columned  style,  its  origin,  306. 

Composition,  42  ;  makes  deline- 
ation artistic,  44;  its  general 
conditions,  154,  239,  253  f.  ; 
pictorial,  263  ;  in  monumental 
sculpture,  337. 

Constable,  quoted,  264,  386. 

Construction,  dependent  on 
material,  283. 

Contour,  in  sculpture,  169;  of  a 
Greek  vase,  217. 

Contrast,  in  composition,  253. 


INDEX 


413 


Conventionalization,   of  natural 

forms,  43. 
Cornice,  its  value,  303  f.  ;  Egyp- 
tian, 304 ;  Greek,  313 ;  Gothic, 

321. 
/Corot,  184,  197,  232,  238. 
//'Corpus  Christi,  festival  of,  Il2f. 
Correggio,  184,  187,  196  f.,  378, 

382  f.,  397,  404. 
Corroborri,    Australian    dance, 

26,  66. 
Cromlech,  53. 
Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  referred 

to,  136,  398. 
Curves,    their    aesthetic    value, 

214,  254  f. 

Dance,  the,  at  present  a  mere 
survival,  5  ;  its  social  value  in 
early  times,  9 ;  a  primitive 
form  of  art,  25  ;  the  art  of  the 
modern  savage,  26  f. ,  66  ;  its 
beginnings,  27,  37 ;  Greek, 
68  f.  ;  bewegte  Flastik,  69 ;  in 
medieval  Florence,  1 18. 

Dancer,  the  ideal  in  Lucian,  69. 

Dante,  quoted,  114,  228. 

Darwin,  on  aesthetic  sense  in 
animals,  19,  46. 

David,   by   Michelangelo,    178, 

333. 
Decamps,  quoted,  400. 
Decoration,    how    it     becomes 

artistic,  63  ;  colouring  in,  196. 
Decorative  arts,  not  dealt  with, 

23,  47.. 

*  Decorative,'  modern  applica- 
tion of  the  word  to  cabinet 
pictures,  231  f. 

Delia  Valle,  quoted,  109. 

Delphi,  99.   • 

Demeter  from  Cnidus,  in  British 
Museum,  349. 

Denkmdler  d.  kl,  Alterthums^ 
referred  to,  177. 

Development,  the  term  not 
applicable  to  art,  5. 

Dieulafoy,  referred  to,  308. 

Dion  Chrysostom,  quoted,  91. 

Dionysiac  revels,  Greek,  76  f. 

Discobolus  by  Myron,  261,  361. 


Distance,   its  representation  in 

the  graphic  art,  195,  374  f. 
Dolmen,  53,  3CX)  f. 
Dome,  its  contour,  1 58 ;  as  an 

external  feature,  291. 
Donatello,  334,  365  f. 
Doric  style,  311. 
Drama,  origin  of,  63  ;  the  Attic, 

73    f .  ;     presents    itself  as  a 

unity,  153. 
Drapery,   in    Greek    sculpture 

342  f.,  347  f.  ;  on  Parthenon 

marbles,  348. 
Drip-moulding,  321. 
'Drops,'  313. 

Du  Cleuziou,  referred  to,  53. 
Ducal  Palace,  at  Venice,  1 59. 
Diirer,  Albrecht,  202,  235,  338. 
Durm,  Prof.,  referred  to,  250. 

Eastlake,  Sir  C,  quoted,  1 84, 

197,  i99»  363,  397. 

Echinus,  312. 

'  Effect,'  in  landscape,  386. 

Egg-shape,  255. 

Egyptian  statues,  325  f. 

Eiffel  Tower,  222. 

Ellipse,  255. 

English  medieval  sculpture,  353. 

Engraving,  early  history  of  the 
art,  201  f. 

Entasis,  of  Doric  shaft,  158,  311. 

Etching,  203,  209. 

Evolution,  the  term  not  appli- 
cable to  art,  5  f. 

Facade,  Doric,  302,  310  f. 
Falconet,  quoted,  369. 
Farnese  Bull,  352. 
'Fates,'    from    the    Parthenon, 

348,  351- 

Fergusson,  James,  quoted,  220, 
284. 

*  Festaiuoli,'  at  Florence,  105. 

'Feste,'  Italian,  100. 

Festival,  the,  its  importance  for 
art,  48  f. ,  65 ;  of  San  Gio- 
vanni at  Florence,  119  f. 

Figure,  human,  treatment  of  by 
the  Greeks,  343  f. 

Firenzuola,  quoted,  139. 


A 


414 


INDEX 


Flagstaffs,  before  the   Egyptian 

shrine,  58. 
Flaxman,  189. 
Florentines,     their     versatility, 

104 ;  their  artistic  character, 

125. 
Fluting,  311. 
Foreshortening,  191,  378. 
Form  in  art,  importance  of,  21, 

41. 
Form,  solid,  as  represented  in 

the  graphic  art,  190. 
Forth  Bridge,  222. 
Fortress,  its  aesthetic  character, 

52. 
Freedom  of  art,  doctrine  of,  8f., 

34,  39. 

Freeman,  Edward,  quoted, 
223. 

French  i8th  century  decoration, 
251. 

Fresco-painting,  the  character- 
istic Florentine  art,  127  ;  its 
process,  i4of. ;  its  limitations, 
372  ;  Vasari  on,  393. 

Frescoist,  of  the  15th  century, 
128  f. 

Frieze,  Doric,  313. 

Fromentin,  Eugene,  quoted,  236, 
405. 

Front,  St.,  at  Perigueux,  281. 

Gainsborough,  197,  246,  405. 

ydvcoais,  176. 

Gaye,  quoted,  129. 

Gentile  da  Fabriano,  107. 

Geometrical  designs,  5. 

Gericault,  234. 

Gesture,  as  origin  of  the  graphic 

art,  31  f.  ;  simplest  mode  of 

expression,  37. 
Ghiberti,  his  reliefs,  365  f.  ;  his 

Commentaries^   quoted,    136, 

168  f. 
Ghirlandajo,  132,  372. 
Giant    frieze    from    Pergamon, 

.175,  358,  360. 
Gilding  on  bronze  statues,  173. 
Giorgione,  378. 
*  Glazing, '  396  f. 
Gold-and-ivory  statues,  172. 


*  Golden  section,'  256. 
Goro  Dati,  quoted,  119  f. 
Gothic  architecture,  257,  292  f., 

319,  322. 

Gothic  sculpture,  French,  353. 

Gozzoli,  Benozzo,  107. 

Graphic  art.     See  Painting. 

Grazzini,  quoted,  116  f. 

Greeks,  special  qualities  in  their 
work,  81  ;  their  supremacy  in 
sculpture,  327  ;  their  sense  of 
form  and  texture,  249  f . 

Groos,  Prof,  on  Play,  referred 
to,  13,  15,  21  ;  quoted,  41. 

Grosse,  Prof. ,  on  the  Beginnings 
of  Art,  referred  to,  7,  9,  26, 
66,  212;  quoted,    8,  22,   30, 

40,  45. 
Gualveneus       della       Flamma, 

quoted,  108. 
yvyLVOTTOuLhia^  73. 
Guyau,  quoted,  18. 
Gymnastic  dances,  26. 

Hair,  as  treated  by  the  Greeks, 

349  f. 
Hals,  Frans,  185,  187,  401. 
Harmony,  in  painting,  244. 
Hauck,  Guido,  quoted,  213. 
Hegel,  quoted,  89,  223. 
Hellas,  the  theme  of  Greek  art, 

83  f. 
Heraeum,  at  Olympia,  308,  311. 
Hermes,  by  Praxiteles,  1 76,  333, 

345  f- 

Hieroglyphic  writing,  Egyptian, 
pictures  in,  57. 

Hirn,  Yrjo,  quoted,  5,  8,  21,  22, 
37  f.,  43,  209;  referred  to, 
20,  34. 

Holbein,  his  line,  189, 

Homer,  temples  in,  59' 

Hood-moulding,  321. 

Houbraken,  quoted,  185,  401. 

Human  figure,  treatment  of  by 
the  Greeks,  343  f. 

Hunters,  their  skill  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  nature,  30. 

*  Ideal, '  meaning  of  the  word  in 

Greek  art,  97. 


INDEX 


415 


*  Ilyssus,'   from  the  Parthenon, 

249,  346. 
Imitation,  why  pleasurable,  38  ; 

not  in  itself  artistic,  44,  63, 

230. 
Impressionist  painting,  264  f. 
Incrustation,  162. 
Industrial  arts,  not  dealt  with, 

23. 

KaXXi(rTe?a,  in  Greece,  70  f. 
Kant,  quoted,  12. 
Keene,  Charles,  203  f. 
Knight,  Prof.,  referred  to,  12. 
Koninck,  de,  385. 

Landscape,  modem  treatment  of, 
386. 

Laocoon,  352. 

Lartet  and  Christy,  referred  to, 
29,  32. 

Lefort,  Paul,  quoted,  405. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  382  f. 

Lepsius,  on  Greek  marble,  re- 
ferred to,  333. 

Liber  Sttidiortim,  209. 

Light-and-shade,  as  elements  of 
effect  in  architecture,  158  f.; 
in  sculpture,  170;  in  the 
graphic  art,  200  f. ,  379  f. 

Line  drawing,  188  f. 

Lines,  as  elements  of  effect  in 
architecture,  157  f. ;  in  sculp- 
ture, 169 ;  in  the  graphic  art, 
186,  188  f. 

Lion  Tomb  at  Cnidus,  316,  350. 

Lipps,  Prof.,  quoted,  216. 

Lorenzetti,  118,  136. 

Lucian,  quoted,  68,  69,  'J'i^  75, 

77,  78,  93- 
Luini,  no. 
*  Lychnites,'  333. 

Madeleine,  at  Paris,  columns  of, 
284. 

Mammoth,  early  representations 
of,  28. 

Mantegna,  115,  377. 

Marble,  limited  size  of  blocks, 
332  ;  Parian,  333,  335  ;  com- 
pared with  bronze,  339. 


•  Mark  of  the  tool,'  249. 

Maso  Finiguerra,  202. 

Mass,  as  element  of  effect  in 
architecture,  156,  220. 

Material,  its  importance  in  archi- 
tecture, 283. 

Matteo  Giovanni,  109. 

Measure.  See  Rhythm,  Order, 
Proportion. 

Mengs,  Raphael,  quoted,  406. 

Menhir,  53. 

Metopes,  274,  313  ;  from  the 
Parthenon,  349,  360,  363  f. 

Meyer,  Direktor,  on  Correggio, 
quoted,  384. 

Mezzotint,  203,  209. 

Michelangelo,  178,  356,  378, 
392  ;  quoted,  370. 

Michelozzi,  286. 

Millais,  Sir  J.  E.,  184,  187. 

Millet,  J.  F.,  quoted,  236. 

Mimetic  dances,  26,  63,  73  f. 

Mimicry,  why  pleasurable,  38. 

Mirror-backs,  engraved,  189, 
201. 

Monticelli,  199,  232. 

Moore,  C.  H.,  quoted,  297. 

Mouldings,  259,  279,  281,  314, 
320  f. 

Museum  of  St.  Germain,  28. 

Music,  always  accompanies  the 
dance,  27,  43  ;  primitive,  43  ; 
rhythm  its  fundamental  prin- 
ciple, 43  ;  illustration  drawn 
from,  206. 

Natural  symbolism  in  art,  207  f. , 

223,  283  f. 
Niello  work,  201. 
Nike  of  Ppeonios,  336,  347 ;    of 

Samothrace,  336,  347. 
Nude,  the,  in  Greek  art,   342, 

344  f. 

Oil  painting,  388  f. 
Olympia,  60. 

Order,  principle  of,  42,  63,  153. 
Ornament,    architectural,     279, 

280  f. 
Ott fried  Muller,  quoted,  89. 
Oval,  255. 


4I« 


INDEX 


Paestum,  Temple  at,  281. 

Pageants,  Florentine,  104  f. 

Painter,  the,  his  education, 
186  f. 

Painting,  its  beginnings,  27,  31, 
33 ;  how  made  artistic,  63 ; 
Christian,  its  beginning,  102  f.; 
of  architecture,  162  f.  ;  of 
sculpture,  171  f. ;  elements  of 
effect  in,  179  f . ;  latest  to 
develop  of  the  arts  of  form, 
180;  its  wide  range,  180  f.j 
its  relation  to  the  other  arts 
of  form,  181  ;  essence  of  the 
art,  182  f.  ;  represents  appear- 
ance, 183  f.,  403 ;  unde- 
veloped kinds  of,  188  f.  ; 
modern,  263  ;  two  heroic  ages 
of  the  art,  327  ;  has  its  light 
and  shade  in  itself,  404 ;  its 
grande  difficulty ^  407. 

Palace,  Pitti,  52,  286,  291  ; 
Papal  at  Avignon,  52 ;  Ducal 
at  Venice,  1 59 ;  Vecchio  at 
Florence,  257;  Riccardi,  286, 
291  ;  of  Solomon,  307  ;  Ruc- 
cellai,  318. 

Palace-fortress,  52. 

Palaeolithic  art,  6,  24,  28  f. ;  not 
totemistic,  39  f. 

Palazzo.     See  Palace. 

Palma  Giovine,  quoted,  398. 

Pantheon,  the,  224,  226,  291. 

Pantomime,  Greek,  75  f. 

Papyrus  columns,  307. 

Parthenon,  sculptured  marbles 
from,  249,  341,  351  ;  masonry 
of,  250;  frieze  of,  175*,  245, 
357»  359 ;  metopes  from,  36c, 
362  f. 

Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau, 

lOI. 

Pattern,  how  constituted,  45. 
Paulinus     of     Nola,      quoted, 

102. 
Pausanias,  quoted,  80;  referred 

to,  126,  309. 
Pentelic  marble,  161. 
Pergamon,  reliefs  from,  175,  358, 

360. 
Perrens,  quoted,  118. 


Perrot,  referred  to,  300. 
Personal  adornment,  25,  33-44. 
Perspective,  191  f. ;  linear,  191  f., 

374  f.;  aerial,  195,  379  f. 
Petrie,  Fl.,  referred  to,  305. 
Pheidias,  350  f. 
Philipp  Prosper,  portrait  of,  by 

Velasquez,  185. 
Phillip,  John,  184,  187. 
Phoenicians,    as    stone-builders, 

285. 
Picture,  the,   use  of  the  word 

'  decorative  *    in    connection 

with,  232  ;  how  it  should  be 

studied,  243. 
Pinnacles,  269. 
Pisan  sculptors,  early,  367. 
Pisano,  Andrea,  368. 
Pitti  Palace,  52,  286,  291. 
Pius  II.,  quoted,  112  f. 
Plan,  in  building,  277  f. 
Planes,  in  relief-treatment,  364  f. 
Planning,  in  architecture,  282. 
Plastic  art.     See  Sculpture. 
Plato,  quoted,  334. 
Play,  theories  of  it,   12  f. ;    its 

distinction  from  art,  15,  21. 

*  Play  of  surface,'  248. 
Playfair,     his     architecture     in 

Edinburgh,  319. 

Plutarch,  quoted,  351. 

Polishing,  of  marble,  250 ;  of 
bronze,  250. 

Polychromy,  in  architecture, 
161  f.,  174;  in  sculpture, 
171  f. 

Pompeii,  frescoes  at,  140,  142, 
194. 

Portland  stone,  161,  165. 

Portraiture,  modern  style  of, 
247. 

Poseidon,  torso  of,  from  Par- 
thenon, 346. 

Power,  impression  of  it  in  archi- 
tecture, 221. 

Praxiteles,  94,  176;  Hermes  by, 

176,  333,  345  f. 
Pre-Raffaelite  theory  of  painting, 

273- 

*  Primitive,'  meaning  of  the  term 

in  ethnology,  25,  40. 


INDEX 


417 


Proportion,  42 ;  sense  of  it  only 
possessed  by  man,  46  ;  archi- 
tectural beauty  dependent  on, 
64,  270. 

Provence,  sculpture  of,  367. 

*  Punch,'  quoted,  204. 
Pylons,  59. 

Pyramid,     Egyptian,     its    sub- 
limity, 221. 
Pyrrhic  dance,  72. 

Quellenschriften  fiir  Kunst- 
geschichte^  quoted,  128. 

Raeburn,  247. 

*  Rappresentazioni, '    Florentine, 

Rectangle,  256. 

Red,  as  a  colour,  211  f. 

*  Regulse,'  313. 

Regularity,      in      composition, 

253  f. 
Reindeer,  carved  on  dagger-hilt, 

29. 
Relief,  sculpture  in,  166  f.,  356  f.; 

Greek  and    Italian,    365   f.  ; 

Hellenistic,     367  j      modern, 

371. 

Reliefs,  painted,  midway  be- 
tween painting  and  sculpture, 
49,  167. 

Rembrandt,  as  painter,  184,  187, 
196,  197,  403,  405  ;  his  treat- 
ment of  light  and  shade,  202, 
238,  382  f.  ;  his  etchings,  209. 

Repose,  in  Greek  sculpture,  350 f. 

Reynolds,  Sir  J.,  197,  403,  405  ; 
Reynolds-Gainsborough  style, 
246. 

Rheims  Cathedral,  178,219,298. 

Rhythm,  42 ;  the  condition  of 
art  in  music  and  the  dance, 
43  ;  sense  of  it  only  possessed 
by  man,  46. 

Riccardi  Palace,  286,  291. 

Rodin,  354. 

Roman  architecture,  223  f.,  291. 

Romney,  247. 

Round,  the,  in  sculpture,  166. 

Rubens,  399  f.,  404. 

Ruccellai  Palace,  318. 


Rude  Stone  Monuments,  52  f. 
Ruskin,  referred  to,  165 ;  quoted, 

257. 
Rustication  of  stonework,  159, 

285  f. 
Ruysdael,  238. 

Sacchetti,  referred  to,  129,  130. 

Saint  Germain,  Museum  of, 
28. 

Sarcophagi  from  Sidon,  177. 

Savages,  their  ornamental  pat- 
terns, 5,  30 ;  their  art  not  a 
mere  pastime,  9  f. ;  turn  work 
into  play,  16  ;  devote  much 
time  to  art,  25  f. ;  indefatigable 
dancers,  27. 

ScheUing,  referred  to,  18. 

Schiller,  Letters  on  Esthetic 
Education,  quoted,  16,  42 ; 
referred  to,  12. 

'  Schreckschmuck,'  34. 

Schreiber,  Th.,  quoted,  367. 

Scopas,  94. 

Scottish  National  Portrait  Gal- 
lery, 159. 

Sculpture,  its  votaries  not  com- 
municative, 2 ;  its  beginnings, 
27,  32,  33 ;  its  monumental 
character,  50,  54;  how  made 
artistic,  63,  326 ;  elements  of 
effect  in,  166  f. ;  how  it  should 
be  studied,  242  f. ;  the  most 
imitative  of  the  arts  of  form, 
324  ;  its  periods,  327  ;  its  con- 
ventions, 329  f. ;  processes  of, 
in  ancient  and  modern  times, 
340,  356. 

Greek,,  its  underlying  con- 
ception, 82 ;  Jthe  expression 
of  a  moral  ideal,  98 ;  periods 

of,  352- 

Gothic,  353,  368 ;  Renais- 
sance, 352;  Neo-Classic,  352; 
Modern,  352. 

In  relief,  356  f.;  its  conven- 
tions, 358  f. 

Sebastian  del  Piombo,  392. 

Sedding,  J.,  quoted,  220. 

Selene,  head  of  her  horse  from 
the  Parthenon,  249,  347,  349. 


4i8 


INDEX 


Semper,  Gottfried,  referred  to, 
44,49,61,223;  quoted,  351, 
408  f. 

Shakespeare,  quoted,  228. 

Shelley,  quoted,  217,  246. 

Shrine,  the  essential  part  of  the 
temple,  57  f. ;  in  Egyptian 
temples,  57  ;  in  Greek,  60. 

Significance,  in  works  of  art, 
205  f. 

Song,  connected  with  the  dance, 
25,  27 ;   'of  the  Sword,'  37. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  referred  to, 
13,  25,  213;  quoted,  13,  17; 
his  aesthetic  theory,  16. 

Sphinx,  Temple  of,  300  f. 

Spire,  297. 

Spoils,  used  as  decoration,  25. 

Square,  256. 

Stability,  as  element  of  archi- 
tectural effect,  221. 

Stanley,  H.  M.,  quoted,  6t. 

Statham,  H.  H.,  Architecture 
for  General  Readers^  referred 
to,  2,  282. 

Statue,  in  early  Egypt,  172; 
in  early  Greece,  172. 

Steinen,  von  den,  referred  to,  5, 

31,  33. 
Steps,  of  Doric  temple,  157. 
Stevens,    Alfred,   quoted,    200, 

232  f.,  234,  236,  407. 
Stevenson,    R.   A.    M.,  Art  of 

Velasquez^  referred  to,  2. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  quoted,  37. 
'Stiacciato'  relief,  357. 
Stone,  as  building  material,  283, 

300. 
Stonehenge,  55. 
Straight    lines,    their    sesthetic 

value,  214. 
Strong,  Mrs.,  referred  to,  367. 
String-course,  313. 
Styles,  historical,  of  architecture, 

222,  279. 

Subject,  in  art,  228,  233  f. 
Sublimity,  in  architecture,  221  f 
Symbolism,  natural,  in  art,  207  f. , 

223,  283  f. 

Tay  Bridge,  222. 


Tectonic  style,  271. 

Teeth  of  animals,  used  as  deco- 
ration, 25. 

Temenos,  58. 

Tempera,  process,  141 ;  style, 
388. 

Temple,  its  antiquity,  53,  58. 
Of  Egypt,  55  f  J  place  of  the 
shrine  in,   57  ;   its  colouring, 
164. 

Of  Greece,  59,  79,  310;  its 
colouring,  163  f. 

Doric,  273  ;  Etruscan,  307. 

Temple  image,  in  Greece,  79. 

Tennyson,  quoted,  228. 

Tent-sanctuary,  Israelitish,  58. 

Terra-cotta,  355. 

Textile  craft,  the,  49,  61. 

Texture,  155  ;  as  element  of 
architectural  effect,  1 59  f. ;  its 
relation  to  colour,  162 ;  as 
element  of  effect  in  sculpture, 
170  ;  in  the  graphic  art,  I99f. 

Theodoric,  tomb  of,  284. 

'Theseus,' from  the  Parthenon, 
261,  346,  351. 

Thrust,  lateral,  292. 

Timber  construction,  306  f.,  309. 

Tintoretto,  394. 

Tirlh^  modern  Greek  dance,  67. 

Titian,  378,  380,  398,  404. 

Tomb,  the,  its  antiquity,  53 ; 
English,  sculpture  on,  353. 

Totem-marks,  9,  39. 

'  Transference,'  of  motives,  from 
one  material  to  another,  303. 

Triglyph,  274,  313. 

♦Trionfi,'  114. 

Trophy,  early  form  of  personal 
adornment,  25,  35. 

Truth  to  nature,  227  f. 

Turner,  J,  M.  W.,  184,  209, 
238. 

Types,  in  Greek  sculpture,  87  f. 

Uccello,  375. 

Unity,  necessary  in  the  work  of 

art,  153,  240. 
Utility,  as  an  element  in  archi- 
■    tecture,  51,  272  f.  ;  its  place 

in  the  temple  structure,  55. 


INDEX 


419 


Vandyke,  185,  247. 

Variety,  in  composition,  253  f. 

Vasari,  quoted,   103,   no,   ill, 

115,  117,  129,   132,  134,  136, 

143,  202,  334,  357,  372,  393. 
Vases,  Greek,  255. 
Vault,  the,  288  f. 
Velasquez,  184  f.,  187,  196,  405. 
Venetian    painting,    394,    397, 

402,  404. 
Venus,   de'   Medici,    177,   260, 

335  ;  of  Milo,  333,  349. 
Verrocchio,  338. 
Veronese,  Paolo,  396. 
Villani,  referred  to,  in,  118. 
Viollet-le-Duc,  referred  to,  157; 

quoted,  272,  297. 
Vision,  act  of,  described,  213. 
Vitruvius,     referred     to,      142 ; 

quoted,  272. 
Volute,  Ionic,  158.  • 

Votive  images,  60. 

Wall,  in  architecture,  291. 
Wallaschek,  R,,  quoted,  27,  43. 
Ward,    Prof.    A.    W.,    quoted, 
loi. 


Watson  Gordon,  Sir  J.,  247. 
Westminster,    Roman    Catholic 

Cathedral  at,  244. 
Whistler,  J.  M*N.,  quoted,  206, 

233,  234,  381. 
Winckelmann,  quoted,  95  f. 
Window  Tracery,  296. 
Wood,  its  character  as  a  material, 

309  f.,  336. 
Wood-blocks,  their  history  and 

use,  202. 
Work,  among  primitive  peoples, 

15- 
Workshop,  a  Florentine,  130  f. 
Wren,    Sir     Christopher,    165, 

281,  318. 
Wundt,  Prof.,  quoted,  208,  209, 

210,  214,  215. 

Xenophanes,  quoted,  126. 
Xenophon,   quoted,    74  f.  ;  re- 
ferred to,  229. 
Xoanon,  172. 

Zeising,  quoted,  256. 

Zeus,  by  Pheidias,  91,  334,  35°- 

Zeuxis,  189. 


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